Merely the Bride
by Vivian B
Summary: The Dark Lord is dead, and Hermione's life looks great--until she gets a notice from a solicitor that she's been betrothed to Blaise Zabini. With compulsion charms on a contract signed by ancestors she hadn't known, they are forced to wed.
1. Chapter 1

Merely the Bride

Chapter 1

Hermione laughed at Harry's joke and stood from her chair at their table at the Leaky Cauldron. "I'm going to the Ladies; I'll be back in a minute." She ran her fingertips along Ron's back as she walked by and felt him shiver slightly. Smirking to herself, she made her way across the busy pub, turning to greet a few people she knew as she passed by. As she neared the hallway leading to the restrooms, she found herself face to face with another old schoolmate.

"Granger."

"Zabini." Hermione flicked her eyes over him and noticed his shoulders had broadened in the past few years. Still, his dark face held the characteristic sneer, his black eyes stared into her. His lips turned up slightly at the edges as he took in her appearance. Hermione hadn't seen him since the end of her sixth year at Hogwarts. He had completed his seventh about the time of the final battle on Hogwarts grounds, and she had returned to complete her seventh year the following fall after the school had been put to rights again. Since she had never been the least interested in him, she was surprised to feel a small tug of attraction to him.

"You clean up decently." He stepped closer and tipped his head slightly. "I suppose even a Mudblood can put on a decent set of dress robes."

Fuming, Hermione glared at him. "Still the same narrow minded prat as always, I see." She'd seen enough of the Pure-blood prejudices to last her a lifetime, but it had lost much of its sting. "Still allowing Malfoy to do your thinking for you?" She moved to push past, but he reached out and grasped her forearm and she felt a sizzle of electricity run up her arm. Her breath caught for an instant before she could push the growing chemistry back.

"And you're still fighting battles to protect beleaguered house-elves. Some things never change."

Hermione glared and pulled her arm from his grasp. "At least I'm doing something worthwhile with my life, not wasting it sitting in my royal tower, looking down on all the people I _think_ are below me. Get a life."

She pushed through the crowd and made her way to the restroom, still feeling the heat of his hand on her arm, the thrill of electricity in her chest. It both excited and nauseated her. The response made no sense to her, and she couldn't ignore it. After taking her turn in one of the stalls, she stood before the mirror and washed her hands, staring at her face. What was wrong with her? Was she sick?

She didn't think she and Blaise Zabini had given each other the time of day before, but this time they both stopped to exchange insults. He had always been a self-aggrandizing prat. He hadn't exactly followed Malfoy around, like she had suggested, but he held similar beliefs to Malfoy, about blood purity and his own self worth. Zabini hadn't taken the Dark Mark, and Hermione didn't know if murder and mayhem appealed to him, but she wasn't interested in finding out.

She glanced over her robes in the mirror, and decided Zabini had been right about one thing—she did look rather nice this evening. There was just a hint of cleavage displayed by the low neckline—Ron was certainly enjoying that, and with a little luck she would finally be able to enjoy his interest right back. She smiled and returned to her friends.

****

Blaise watched her return to her table. Hermione Granger had always been an obnoxious swot, head in her books, hand in the air, hair wild and untamed. He wasn't sure why he'd bothered to cross verbal swords with her tonight, but something had spurred him on; the same something that had pushed him to intercept her in the first place. It was out of character for him to go looking for a fight. Though he didn't put near the stock in it as Malfoy, he had always believed in blood purity and the value of a large, stuffed vault at Gringotts, but generally avoided confrontation.

She did look nice tonight; her wild hair somewhat tamed and pulled back to reveal her face, which maturity had certainly improved. Her complexion was good, her eyes bright and appealing. And her figure . . . well, he wouldn't mind getting a little closer to a body like that, if only it wasn't attached to her personality. He shook his head, trying to forget her. He wasn't sure why he was still thinking about the chit in the first place. He turned to the leggy red-head seated beside him. He had all the women he could possibly want at the snap of his fingers. This one wanted him right back. He figured she had longer-range plans for him than he harbored for her, but that wouldn't stop him from enjoying the evening. If he could get past his little problem.

* * *

Octavia Prewett hurried down Diagon Alley, her hood pulled up to cover her face on the off chance that she might run into someone who could recognize her in her current identity. Not that there were more than a handful who might, but one never knew when Hermione or her friends might wander down Diagon Alley. Octavia had kept tabs on Hermione over the years, watched and waited. She hadn't wanted to act, hadn't planned to move quite yet, but she had figured the young woman would have received notice by now. The fact that Hermione appeared to be getting serious with the Weasley boy indicated that she hadn't gotten a letter. What was wrong with those solicitors anyway?

It had been nearly two decades since Octavia had been in Diagon Alley last. Her current lifestyle precluded trips into the familiar streets. Every time she came out in London's wizarding section, she risked being caught, even if there were very few who might figure out who she was. She had taken great pains to disappear years before.

Reaching the solicitor's door, Octavia glanced around her, then hurried in. If a notice hadn't been sent to Hermione yet, one that would prevent the relationship Hermione had with Ron from growing any more serious, Octavia would have to take action. Besides, if Hermione didn't change course, and fast, the consequences didn't bear thinking on. She tried to ignore the ache in her chest as she thought of the way Hermione would feel when she received her copy of the contract, but it couldn't be helped. Hermione would be affected whether she received notice or not.

* * *

Hermione stood at the stove at number twelve, Grimmauld Place and gave the cheese sauce a final stir. "So, I figured my next step would be to protect the werewolves, to try to keep others from being placed in Remus' position." She turned and found her audience had long since lost interest. Harry and Ginny were wrapped up in each other, their arms intertwined. Ron was engrossed in a Quidditch magazine. He made a noise of agreement, but didn't lift his gaze from the article he read.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "So I figured I would move to Bora Bora and open a shirt shack and drink Margaritas by the seaside until my dying day."

"You're right, of course. Good idea." Ron flipped the page of the magazine and didn't look in her face.

"Right-o." Harry leaned in and pressed his lips to Ginny's, totally engrossed in his fiancée.

Disgusted, Hermione took the pan off the stove and set it on the hot pad, allowing it to hit the table a bit harder than necessary. "Collin Creevey and I are going to shack up and make love until the sun turns into a red giant and swallows the Earth."

"Great plan." Ron didn't glance in her direction, but reached for the butterbeer at his side as he continued to read. "Hey, look at this. Westerly is going to sign with the Wasps after all."

Hermione reached out and yanked the magazine from Ron's hand, glaring at him when he looked up in protest. "I was reading that."

"Yeah, and I was hoping to have an actual conversation with you."

"I was listening, really. Just scanning the pages."

"So you think my plan's a great one, do you?"

"All your plans are great, love." He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back.

She pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest. "And can you recall what my plan was?"

He took on that look of a cornered wild animal. "Er, you discussed your hopes for your house-elf legislation."

Hermione folded the magazine in her hand and smacked him on the chest with it. "That was nearly fifteen minutes ago."

"Er, sorry. It was a great article. You should be happy I'm reading something."

Hermione sighed. She accepted that Ron had only minimal interest in her job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; she hardly cared about his work with George at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, after all. She should know better than to expect his complete attention if she was going to talk about her work for more than two minutes at a time.

Harry and Ginny came up for air, and Harry grinned, then reached across the table for his fondue fork. "All ready then?"

She couldn't blame Harry and Ginny for being wrapped up in each other. Ginny was playing for the Harpies, and had been on the road for nearly two weeks with little time to spend with Harry. He was still in Auror training and had only been able to get away for one game while she was out. With their wedding only a couple weeks away, she could hardly expect them to be any less than completely wrapped up in each other.

Ginny talked about something that happened at her game a few days earlier and caught both men's attention. Hermione turned her face toward Ginny, but after a few minutes, found herself drifting off every bit as much as the other three had been during her own work discussion. Since Ginny had been recruited to play for the Harpies, Hermione had gone to more Quidditch matches than ever. She enjoyed the game most of the time, and didn't mind some Quidditch discussion, but she'd hardly consider herself an enthusiast. Harry's work as an Auror was far more interesting to Hermione because of the situations and training he received, but lately she had trouble focusing when he spoke as well.

Her mind returned to the conversation she'd had with Blaise Zabini a few nights earlier. It had been brief, unimportant, barely worth her notice, really, but she had found her mind repeatedly turning back to the encounter. The feel of his touch when he grabbed her arm, his warm hand wrapped around her arm, the dark expression in his eyes. She wondered if she had imagined the look of surprise in his face when he touched her, or if it had been real. Had he felt the same elemental reaction to their touch that she had? She shook her head to clear it, knowing it was useless to dwell on the issue. She hadn't seen the man in four years, and probably wouldn't see him again for several more. He had no place in her life.

She speared a chunk of cauliflower and dipped it in the cheese sauce. She popped the vegetable in her mouth, then looked up as an owl pecked at the kitchen window. Kreacher hurried over to the window and allowed the bird in, and Hermione was surprised when it flew over and settle in front of her.

"Hello, what've you got?" She took the paper from the owl, fed the bird a bit of smoked sausage from her plate, and turned to the paper.

She didn't notice when the bird flew back out the window or Kreacher shut the casement behind it. She didn't notice Harry and Ron returning to their Quidditch discussion or the way Ginny savored the rich cheese sauce on a square of French bread.

What she did notice was the solicitor's name at the top of the page, and the few lines that followed. Her whole world seemed to zero in on the papers, then shattered around her.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_It has come to our attention that your twenty-first birthday is approaching. As this is so, we find it past time to alert you of a betrothal contract made by your ancestors some years ago. Enclosed is a copy of the contract with all of the official signatures and affidavits. Due to a clerical error, we have failed to send the required notice at your seventeenth birthday as would be the norm. Please accept our humble apologies, and know that you can contact us for future questions regarding the matter._

It was signed by the solicitor and Hermione reread the first sheet. A betrothal contract? There must be some mistake. How could her ancestors have been involved in something like that, and why would they do it?

She flipped to the next page and looked the contract over. She snorted when she read that the contract affected the offspring of Octavia Prewett and Augustus Nott. She was a Muggleborn; the daughter of the Grangers. Obviously there was some mistake. When she read over the clauses that stipulated the various charms and enchantments that had been placed in the contract, she took a few notes. After all, she hadn't heard of them before and was curious about what they did—even if this was all a mistake.

"Hermione, what's that?" Ron asked, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

"Nothing much. Just a bit of business." She folded and stashed the papers away. In the morning she would visit the solicitor, if for no other reason than to tell them that they had made a mistake.

* * *

Blaise Zabini sat in his home office frowning over reports from the family businesses when a brown barn owl pecked on his office window. He lifted a perfectly formed eyebrow and waved the window open. He knew it wasn't a missive from one of his business interests, as the Zabini family would never use such a common owl, and it was rather late in the day for a business note, anyway. "What's this?" he muttered as he pulled the scroll from the owl's leg. He unrolled it and looked it over.

He read the opening sentences, swallowed, felt his shoulder droop, and continued on. Blaise read through the notice twice before he was sure he had understood it correctly. Even then, he would rather believe it a mistake. How could he be contracted to marry Hermione Granger, of all people? She was a Mudblood, and neither of them were even born in 1915. And what was with the last name Nott?

"Like I would condescend to marry someone like her." He scoffed and threw the scroll into the garbage can. It had to be some elaborate joke of Malfoy's. His mother walked in as the scroll hit the can and rolled off the top of the papers he'd been throwing in there all day. When it hit the floor, she picked the scroll up and, noticing the solicitor's seal, unrolled it.

"Don't worry about that rubbish. I'm sure Malfoy's trying to be funny," Blaise said as he noticed what his mother was reading.

Her beautiful face drew tight as she reread the missive, then turned on her heel, carrying the letter with her.

"What is it, Mum?"

"Just something I need to check. I'll return shortly."

Blaise shook his head and wondered what she was up to. The whole matter was confusing. If Hermione was a Muggleborn, she couldn't possibly have been contracted back in 1915, as only wizards were capable of making a magically binding contract. Dismissing the worry from his mind for the time being—his mother was checking on it, after all, and he did have pressing business to attend to—he returned to his work.

An hour passed as he slogged through the paperwork, seeing to the myriad details before him. Then his mother walked in, and Blaise saw the look of triumph in her eyes. "What do you know of this Hermione Granger?" she asked.

The image of her sashaying though the crowds at the Leaky Cauldron, her robes enhancing her lovely shape, crossed his mind. He pushed it away and considered the question more academically. "She's bright, obnoxious, has to show off her brains at every turn, and is the Boy Who Lived's best friend. Did you learn something about the contract? A product of Malfoy's fertile imagination, I assume?"

"Not quite. I've seen the contract once before. A copy of it, at least. It came to me the week before you were born."

Blaise lifted his brows. "You've known about this more than twenty years and said nothing about it?"

"I did mention to you that your marriage had been arranged, but I'd been unable to ascertain the girl's whereabouts," She reminded him. "When the first came before you were born, there was no first name on the line. Just now I looked up the contract in question and compared it to this copy. You do realize it says you two must wed before your twenty-first birthdays both pass. Since hers is only weeks away and yours isn't far behind, that means your wedding will take place before October first." She looked thrilled by this prospect.

He felt his stomach drop out. This couldn't possibly be true. "You've got to be kidding me. I don't even like the girl, and Theo couldn't have a sister. We'd have known if he did."

"Apparently we don't know everything." His mother lifted a perfectly sculpted brow and set the scroll back on the desk. "I think we'll have a little dinner party, you, me and your fiancée. How does Thursday sound?"

Blaise groaned. His mother had been after him about the way he played the field as he dated. He was only 20 for Merlin's sake, but as the last Zabini male, he had a duty to the family name, or so she'd been saying. "Mum, I don't like the witch, not even a little bit. She's nothing but Mudblood scum, no matter what that letter says."

"Well, I think we should get to the bottom of it, and if the Ministry, and the contract require you to wed, you ought to get to know each other while you have the chance, don't you think? The consequences for not following through include the loss of your magical ability and being cut off from the family. No more spending the Zabini gold or running the family businesses. I'll go make the arrangements and invite the girl." She turned without giving him the chance to protest further. "Just think, my Blaise marrying the brightest witch of her age! We can grill the Mudblood training right out of her."

Blaise groaned as his mother disappeared down the hall. This was something out of a nightmare. And his mother was right. He had every intention of getting to the bottom of things.


	2. Chapter 2

Merely the Bride

Chapter Two

That night Hermione had another dream in a long line of dreams about her days at Hogwarts. Sometimes they took place in other areas, but they always contained blaise. Once again, she saw a flash of Blaise in the background. Most of the time he had stayed there, in her line of sight, but not approaching. Lately, however, he had begun moving closer, sometimes walking past, perhaps running a hand down the length of her arm or reaching out to brush his fingers across her cheek. She credited these dreams for why her heart had raced when she had run into him at the Leaky Cauldron. It wasn't that she felt anything for him, just that her dreams had addled her brain.

This time, however, his dream self stopped before her and reached out, touching her face while all of the other students brushed past them on either side, oblivious to the fact that the couple was focused so totally on each other. "You're mine, Hermione. You always have been, always will be," he said. He moved in closer to press a kiss on her mouth, but she woke up before their lips could touch. Her heart beat like snare drums in her chest and her lips tingled, as though in anticipation of the dream kiss.

"That's ridiculous," she whispered to herself in the dark. "It's just that stupid contract, making you imagine things." Still, she couldn't quite rid herself of the image or emotions the dream had raised.

It was four a.m. and she couldn't' go back to sleep, so Hermione dug through a few books looking for the charms listed in the contract. It took nearly an hour before she found the first charm. This was a fidelity charm, requiring the participants to stay true to each other. Apparently it affected the female from puberty, preventing her from desiring sexual contact with anyone except the male it was also cast on. It would allow her to go so far, then no further, nudging her to draw away. If she didn't pull back, she would begin to feel physical pain—pain that would be shared with her betrothed. The male was affected as well, but not until his twentieth birthday or consummation of the betrothal, whichever came first.

Apparently, there was a serious double standard in the spell.

Hermione refused to believe the spell had anything to do with why she remained a virgin, why she continued to frustrate Ron and herself by staying celibate when they had been dating for several years now. She did fine until the clothes started coming off, and then she felt this terrible compulsion to draw back, to pull away. She had always figured it was because she wasn't ready for that yet—it was a big step to take, even if Ron had trouble understanding her reason. It must be a simple coincidence.

She figured the spell must be affecting Zabini by now, if the contract could be believed on any level—it wasn't her, of course, but he was a Zabini, so if the contract was legitimate, his name was certainly accurate. Knowing his school reputation as a ladies' man, Hermione smirked to herself. She imagined his frustration at not being able to, er, follow through with the offer he made to his dates.

The second charm prevented the couple from taking out their frustrations or anger on each other, physically or magically. Apparently Great-great-grandpa Nott didn't want his progeny to be abused by an angry husband if the marriage didn't make them both happy. This charm surprised and pleased Hermione, but she could understand the necessity. She hoped it wouldn't be needed, but was grateful to have it as a backup.

The third and final charm that she hadn't recognized left Hermione sitting in gape-mouthed surprised for several minutes.

'_The Iunctio Charm is used to draw a couple together. It doesn't affect their minds like a traditional love potion might, it doesn't affect the receptors in the brain that make one think they feel something they don't, but it does affect the hormonal balance of those involved. The initial stages of this charm include fleeting thoughts, general dreams of the other person, then the parties involved pull toward each other, nudged to interact, to grow physically close. Eventually, by the time designated by the casters of the spell, it will push the couple to join, to conceive offspring. The number of offspring the couple will feel compelled to produce may vary depending on the emphasis placed on the spell at the time of invocation.' _

The text went on to describe the stages, the varieties and forms that could be applied, and examples. Hermione snatched up the contract and looked at the specifics of the charm imprinted on the paperwork. Three, the people bound by the contract would be compelled to have three children. Hermione let out a sigh of relief even as her stomach tightened in a knot. Granted, she didn't feel like having any children at the moment. She liked kids, would like to have a couple someday, but she would rather focus on her career for a while yet. At least it hadn't said seven. She admired Molly Weasley, but she certainly didn't want to live the older woman's life.

Besides, the solicitors had the wrong person. Hermione let her mind review what she's read in the book. Starting with early in the days after the spell began taking effect until it compelled the couple to the act of procreation. She wondered how insistent a spell like that would be on a couple who took measures to prevent pregnancy.

The thought sent a shiver down Hermione's back.

* * *

Hermione walked into the solicitor's office a few minutes after it opened. She'd owled her supervisor at work to let her know she would be taking an hour or so off to take care of personal business before coming in. Leonora wouldn't care, she knew. Her boss was always trying to get her to take vacation days or cut her hours back at work—probably hoping Hermione would stop pushing so hard for house elf and werewolf reform.

The solicitor's office was not in the most upscale part of Diagon Alley, but it wasn't on the shabby side, either. An aging wizard with a long, flowing beard and wearing cerulean robes greeted her as she walked in. "Hello, and welcome to Knight and Southerby Solicitors. What can I do for you this morning?"

Putting on a smile she didn't feel, Hermione walked over, taking in all the details of the well-kept office. "Hello, my name is Hermione Granger. I received a notice of betrothal from your firm last night. I wondered if you could give me a bit more information."

"Granger, Granger." The man flipped through the papers on his desk, muttering under his breath. "Oh, yes." He brightened as he pulled a page from the middle of the stack. "The Zabini-Nott contract. I thought it was rather straight-forward myself. Late in being delivered, of course, but with the second rising of Lord Voldithing, we temporarily closed our doors. Never can be too cautious, you know. These kinds of papers are charmed to put themselves in our to-do boxes when it's time for notices to be sent out. It seems our house-elf re-filed the papers before we returned to work. If Octavia hadn't showed up, we wouldn't have remembered at all." He said this as he scanned the pages, then beamed back up at her. "Brilliant match. I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

Hermione grasped that most important sentence, horror filling her. "You wouldn't have remembered _at all_? A contract that would have taken away my magical abilities and I might not have never known about it? How can that be?"

As if realizing for the first time that she was not happy about the whole betrothal situation, he hurried to backpedal. "Rest assured, five days before the charms on the contract took effect, an automatic copy would have been sent out if the contract hadn't been activated by a marriage. You wouldn't have been left defenseless."

That was only slightly better. She still didn't believe this was happening to her. "Five days. Brilliant." What's wrong with this picture? she wondered. Never mind, forget it. Get back to the point_._ "You don't understand. I'm a Muggleborn, so I can't be this heir to the Nott family curse. Besides, Zabini and I loath each other."

The front office door slammed shut. "Don't sugarcoat it, sweetheart. Tell him how you really feel."

Hermione whirled around and looked into Zabini's beetle black eyes. Somehow seeing him standing there, in his business attire, made her breath catch in her throat. She ignored the reaction as best as she could. "I assume you're here for the same reason I am?"

He looked around, disdain for his surroundings clear on his face, then at her. "Obviously."

She huffed and turned back to the solicitor. "So you see, I'd appreciate it if you straightened this out right away."

"There's no mistake, Miss Nott, er Granger. When Octavia came in here, she specifically told me the contract was right, that _you_ were the woman named in it." He lowered his bifocals and glanced at both of the young adults. "I'm sorry if this isn't to your liking, but there's no way to break the contract. Since Ms. Prewett had me double-check it. Unfortunately, the enchantments on the contract are inviolable."

"I believe we'd both like a blood test, before we take this any further. She was raised by _Muggles_, after all." Surprisingly, Zabini's voice was more resigned than disdainful. "My _bride_ will probably need that much to convince her."

Hermione whirled on Blaise and glared at him. "And you're more than happy to marry me, to change your _entire_ lifestyle because of some whim of your ancestors?"

"Our ancestors, sweet." His voice lowered to a mutter and his gaze darkened. "And it's not like my, er, love life has been much to speak of since my last birthday."

It was all Hermione could do to hold back a smirk at his petulance. It must have put a real cramp in his dating life. "I agree. A blood test of some kind is bound to reveal I'm not this daughter of Augustus Nott's."

"Ms. Prewett anticipated your request and had me prepare this." The solicitor frowned and reached into a drawer, removing a sheet of paper. "This page has been imbued with charms that reveal the birth parents of anyone who uses it. The procedure is simple enough." He withdrew his wand and pointed it in Hermione's direction. "Reach out your finger and I'll withdraw a drop of blood."

Hermione tentatively touched the tip of his wand. She was familiar with how the procedure worked, but that didn't mean she wanted to experience it first hand. She felt a slight tingle as her finger touched the wand, then the wand withdrew from her, a drop of crimson blood clinging to the end.

The man touched the drop of blood to a small square on the page and then sat back. "It'll take a few minutes. Please, settle back and wait. The chairs are reasonably comfortable, or so I've been told."

Hermione settled and was surprised to find the man was correct, the chairs were reasonably comfortable. Blaise did the same and she avoided looking at him while they waited. She wasn't sure why she was so nervous, why her stomach was tied up in knots when she knew the results would prove she was Muggleborn, and not the offspring of some Death Eater and mysterious woman. Prewett. Could she be related to Molly Weasely?

Words shimmered on the page and she slid forward in her seat, searching them. Her stomach dropped as she blinked and read them again.

_Offspring of Augustus Theodore Nott and Octavia Penelope Prewett. Born Sept 15, 1981. _

There was a long moment of silence before her betrothed broke it. "Well, sweetheart, it appears we have a wedding in the near future."

Feeling lightheaded, Hermione turned to glare at him. It was galling that he was here for this, and taking it too casually. The disgust on his face seemed to war with irritation. There was no way she would marry a man who thought she was scum. Hurt and angry at the turn of events, she spoke without thinking first. "I'd rather not, thank you. I could live without magic if I need to."

His eyes flared as his anger increased. "I am not going to lose my magic, or my fortune because you refuse to even consider a marriage that will benefit us both."

"I don't need your money and I don't expect any kind of inheritance from Theo's family or the Prewetts. I would hate to lose my magic, but I could survive." It would feel like part of her was being ripped away, nothing would ever be right again, but she'd survive. She stood and walked toward the door.

He followed, allowing her to walk out of the office and for the door to close behind them before he grasped her upper arm and turned her to face him. "For how long? How long do you think you'll make it before you regret the decision? How many days or weeks will you survive without your magic before you wish you could work at the Ministry again? What are you going to do in the Muggle world without a Muggle education? You can't do anything useful in their world."

Panic and horror vied with her revulsion and despair at her whole world being turned upside down at once. He was all too right, but she couldn't even think about it yet. At the moment, she was too engrossed with the reality that her parents had lied to her, that she was adopted and never knew it. They had been terribly offended at her lack of trust when she returned their memories to them after the war ended, and when they heard bits and pieces of what she had been through. She could see the reproach in their eyes, as well as hear it ringing in her ears, even after all this time. 'You should be honest with us, Hermione. We're your parents. Honesty is one of the most important things we could teach you.'

And then there was Ron. She loved Ron, despite his Quidditch obsession. They had so much history between them, and she knew he cared for her too, loved her. They had even spoken about marriage some day in the not-so-distant future. It would kill him to hear she was going to marry someone else. And far too soon. What was with the mistaken birth date anyway? She was born September nineteenth, not the fifteenth.

"I would make it work." Her voice trembled though, belying the words as she avoided his gaze and fought to keep the tears from her eyes. Her parents might give her a job in their practice, but she knew nothing about dentistry and really didn't care to learn. She wanted to be a witch, to live the life she planned for herself. Then again, she didn't know how she would deal with the fact that they had lied to her for all of these years. How could they do that? Was she not allowed to keep any of her life in normal order? It was bad enough her school years had been tied up in adventure after adventure without this happening.

Zabini took a deep, irritated breath and let it out slowly. He lifted a hand and began running it through his hair, then pulled it away, clenched it and set it at his side. Then he met her gaze. "Would it really be so horrible to be married to me? I know we never liked each other, but that doesn't mean we couldn't get along if we had to. If nothing else, the main house is large, and I have more than one if you want to live elsewhere."

As if that had been her foremost concern. "You called me a Mudblood. You thought you were so much better than me simply because I was born into a Muggle family. Yet you expect me to forgive and forget because suddenly I'm not Muggleborn anymore?"

"You aren't a Mudblood after all, or at least not completely. Your blood is at least half pure. I don't know who these Prewetts are—she was a witch at least, which is better than the alternative. I won't be thrilled if you aren't a pure-blood, but it's better than the alternative. If I can deal with it, I don't see where there's a problem." His voice lowered and his fingers on her arm began a caress.

"Change your stripes awfully quickly, don't you." Her voice was low as she tried to ignore the pain in her chest at his attitude. She caught a teasing tendril of male musk emanating from his body and had to force the awareness from her mind. His touch on her arm was a bit too tantalizing, as well. That was definitely all enchantment—she was not the least attracted to his attitude, and she'd never been drawn to guys with hateful personalities.

He shrugged. "Sometimes it pays to roll with things, and I've always known I might end up marrying for power rather than love." He leaned closer and dropped his voice until it spilled over her in sultry waves. "Besides, if I read my facts right, that compulsion charm? It doesn't go away when we both reach our twenty-first birthdays. You'll feel compelled to come find me. Eventually we'll end up together, making love regardless of whether we still have jobs or magic; regardless of whether we're married or not—and it won't end until we produce three offspring."

She shivered as she heard his words, felt the touch of his hand on her shoulder, the way he rubbed his thumb along the sensitive skin just below her ear. She didn't want it, and she wasn't sure she could deal with any of this today. Still, he was right, and it wouldn't hurt to collect more information. "When's your birthday?"

"October first."

Less than a month. One way or another, her life would be irrevocably changed in less than a month.

Silence hung between them for a long moment before Hermione resolutely turned back to the office, opening the door. Maybe Zabini was right. If so, she had to learn more. She asked the man inside, "Do you have paperwork on my adoption, a way I can reach this Octavia?"

The man seemed relieved to see her acting more calmly. "I'm not sure there was an adoption, per se." He pressed his lips together and waved her into the office again.

Zabini placed a hand on her shoulder and nudged her toward the chairs they had occupied a moment earlier. She shrugged his touch off, but moved toward the seat, emotions roiling through her. When they were both settled, she folded her hands on her lap, focusing on keeping her hands relaxed, even if the rest of her muscles were one big knot. "Please explain."

The man steepled his hands in front of him on the desk. "When she visited yesterday, Ms. Prewett told me she was afraid of your father finding you and that you would then be raised as a follower of the Dark Lord. She placed you with a Muggle couple. I understand she had to modify their memories a bit, then she went into hiding. Since Augustus is dead now, she isn't worried his family will learn about you, but she would prefer to stay hidden for the time being. I don't know if there were adoption papers or if your placement with the Grangers was the work of a moment. I'm not sure whose memories she modified, exactly—theirs or someone else's."

Several seconds passed in silence as Hermione fought the hurt, fear, anger and general confusion pouring through her. Octavia modified their memories? So maybe they didn't lie, maybe they just didn't remember? Then something hit her. "Wait a minute, I've seen pictures of me in my mother's arms in the hospital. How could we have pictures like that if she didn't give birth to me?"

"Maybe she had a baby die young just before she got you?" Zabini suggested.

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it off her face. "I don't know." She carefully didn't look at Zabini, wishing he hadn't been there for this little revelation. It was far too private of a matter to share with two strange men. It couldn't be helped, though, so she asked the solicitor, "Did you get any more information?"

"I'm afraid not, and I've only a Muggle mail box to send post to her. She requested no owls because she lives with Muggles."

"Could you give me the address?" She could deal with Muggle mail, after all.

He shook his head. "She asked me to keep it confidential. I can, however, forward a letter from you to her."

"Fine. I'll think about it." Hermione stood and nodded toward the man. "Thank you." Zabini rose with her.

When they reached the front walk, Hermione found her betrothed once again taking hold of her upper arm to stop her. "Hermione, my mum would appreciate it if you came to dinner at your earliest convenience. Would tonight work?"

She fought the urge to pull her arm from his grasp and took a few seconds to calm herself and think about her schedule, but his touch was distracting. Damn enchantments. "Not tonight, I've too much to work through. I need to speak with my parents, figure things out." She couldn't believe she was even taking this all seriously. There _must_ be someone waiting to jump out of the wings and tell her it was all a cruel joke.

"Soon then?"

She shook off his hand and glanced at him. "Yes, I'll send an owl tonight or something."

"Fine. I'll await your owl." A moment later, he Apparated away.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Work did not go well that morning. Hermione was absorbed in everything she had learned since the previous evening. She still couldn't accept that the contract was valid. How could it be true?

Yet, how did she argue with the facts right in front of her? The blood test was incontrovertible, but still…And she did not want to tell Ron. More than _anything_ she didn't want to tell Ron that she was marrying Zabini—of all people—in less than a month. Her lunch date with her long-time boyfriend loomed closer every minute.

Before Ron arrived, however, Theodore Nott came in.

Her half-brother.

He paid her no special attention, gave her no mark of recognition outside of his usual, acknowledged nothing. He just asked her about paperwork for his most recent mammalian addition to the family preservation forest. That's what his business did—raised magical animals. They had been fairly successful, or at least they had been growing lately. From what Hermione had been able to glean, Theo's father hadn't done so well before his death.

Hermione handed Theo the paperwork and studied him covertly while he filled out the paperwork. They exchanged the usual small talk as he discussed his family business—something she had always found fascinating. In school, he had been a rather thin, weedy-looking teen, standoffish and smart, not really belonging to any one group, yet managing to get along with everyone. Now he had filled out considerably in the chest, and his work on the family preserves seemed to have built his arms and legs until the last thing anyone would call him was weedy. He came into her department for various permits at least once a month, so the two of them had talked about his family's preserve several times.

She wondered if he had any idea he even had a sister.

He glanced up and caught her looking at him. "Do I have a bit of chocolate on my face or something?"

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot. "No, of course not. I was just zoning out, I suppose. My mind was on other things."

He sent her a confused look, then returned his attention to the form. A moment later, he finished and handed it to her. She filed the paper properly and handed him the appropriate permits for his newest addition. "There you go. Enjoy and be careful, those animals can be dangerous if riled."

He smiled at her. "I'm always careful. Take care, Hermione." He waved and turned toward the door only to nearly run into Ron, who watched him suspiciously.

"See you, Theo." She watched his retreating back for a long moment, trying to decide how she felt about being Theo's sister. She didn't have any idea. He was perfectly friendly, but how would he feel about his father's infidelity? They couldn't be more than a few months apart in age, after all.

"What's up with him?" Ron asked, pulling her attention back to him. "You're looking at him funny. Has he been bothering you?"

Hermione smiled, but feared the smile was too weak to be convincing. "No, don't worry. He's never been anything but polite to me. Are you hungry?" Asking that question was like asking if Snape was snarky or if Malfoy was blond, but she wanted to redirect his attention.

"Starving. I was thinking about the little café around the corner."

She really couldn't let him go any longer without telling him about the contract, and she definitely didn't want him learning about it in a public place, so she shook her head. "I was thinking we might swing by my flat. I have some more of that cake from last night, and some lasagna from the weekend."

"You're sure? I'd be happy to buy." Ron was always happy to buy now he was working with George at the joke shop. For the first time in his life, he had plenty of money—even if he didn't qualify as rich—yet.

"No, I'd rather be somewhere quiet and more private." She grabbed her purse and headed for him.

When she walked over, he pulled her close for a kiss. Though she felt guilty for allowing it—Ron didn't know better—she participated in the kiss, grateful for something normal in her mixed up world. She had the feeling this would be the end of normal for a while. When he pulled back they, were both a little breathless. "I'd like some private time with you too. It's amazing what you can cover in an hour alone." Unfortunately, his expression said he had hopes to take the kiss much, much farther.

Hermione bit back a sigh and led him out of the office.

They Flooed into her flat a few minutes later and Hermione walked straight into the kitchen to start on lunch. She pulled the pan of lasagna from the fridge and began to dish it onto plates but Ron came up behind her, put a hand on each of her hips and began to nuzzle at her neck. She allowed it for a moment, torn between stopping him and giving into what might be the last time for this kind of closeness between them. When his hands began to roam to other places, though, she covered them with her own and pulled them away. "Ron, I thought you were starving."

"I'll live." He tried to return to his previous activity, but she held him off. "Afraid I'll send you back to work mussed, honey?"

She was tempted to say yes, but knew she needed the evening to herself to think about her life, and if she didn't tell him now, she'd have to tell him at the end of the day. "It's more than that. Budge back, will you? I didn't eat breakfast."

She hadn't felt very hungry for breakfast, and was even less hungry now, but she knew she needed to eat something. It took a moment before he drew away, and she could sense how unhappy he was about it. She pulled out the last of the French bread and slid it onto their plates, then hit both with a warming charm to bring them up to temperature.

They ate in silence, each sneaking looks at the other. It was far from the relaxed atmosphere she had expected when she'd made the date the previous day, expecting to regale him with the story of the mix up.

When the plates were emptied, he pushed his away and leaned back, nursing his bottle of butter beer. "So what's bothering you? You've been off ever since that owl arrived last night."

She was amazed he'd noticed, considering his inattention before dinner. He was growing perceptive, this boyfriend of hers—correction, this soon-to-be ex-boyfriend of hers. She wanted so much to deny everything and go on with her regular life. The food churned in her stomach and she wondered if eating had been such a good idea. There was no easy way to explain, so she pulled the copy of her contract from her purse and handed it to him. "I thought this was a big mix up when I received it last night, but it doesn't look that way. I visited the solicitor and took a Blood-By-Birth Test this morning. It's all too true."

"What are you talking about?" he asked as he took the papers, then unrolled them and began reading.

Before he read twenty seconds his face began to grow white, his freckles seemed to pop out and his eyes widened. He didn't read even halfway through before he set it on the table, as if unable to lift that weight anymore and stared at her. "This is not a funny joke."

Tears filled her eyes, and she closed them against the pain on his face—pain that only heightened her own. "It's not a joke. It's the furthest thing from funny I can imagine. I told you, I did a blood test, and it said this was all true." She wiped at the tears on her cheeks. "I don't know if my parents don't realize I'm not theirs, or if they knew and didn't tell me. And I don't want—can't stand Zabini. It's barely a step up from being forced to marry Malfoy." She burst into tears, noisily sobbing, bent at the waist because she couldn't hold it in.

His arms surrounded her, pulled her close, and the next thing she knew they were kissing desperately, clinging to each other. They moved to the sofa only a few feet away.

This time when he tried for more, she didn't stop him. When the compulsion to pull away came, she ignored it—at least until the pain began. It was like having a pick taken to the inside of her head, sharp and excruciating. She scrambled from Ron's arms, holding her head as if that would dull the pain, even a little.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching out to touch her bare shoulder.

"The enchantment." The pain began to lessen, and she pulled further away from Ron. "Ug, I should have realized. The book said the pain would be bad. I had no idea."

"What book? What enchantment?" When he drew her back into his arms, the pain began to strengthen again, and she pulled away, starting to put her clothes back to rights, picking her blouse from the floor.

"Get everything back together and I'll explain." She gestured to his clothes which were far from their normal state.

He sent her a look of frustration and longing, but after a few seconds, began buttoning his shirt again, and tugging everything back into place.

When they were both back on the sofa, Ron only holding her hand now, which the enchantment seemed to have no problem with, she told him what she had read about the charms on the document. Then she told him what had happened in the solicitor's office that morning.

"There has to be some mistake," he insisted.

"I wish there were, but the pain I just experienced proves there isn't." She thought again of the pain, stronger than any migraine. Tears spilled out again, but they were silent this time, and she wiped at them, knowing her makeup and hair would need some serious attention before she returned to work.

When she stood and moved toward the bathroom to rectify the issue of her appearance, Ron followed. He stood in the doorway while she fixed her face and hair, a few judicious swirls with her wand putting everything in order far faster than a brush ever could have done.

"So what now?" Ron asked when they Flooed back to the Ministry a few minutes later. He walked by her side, his hands buried deep in his pockets, dejection on his face.

"I don't know. I can't even think. I'd like to try and track down this Octavia Prewett and see what she knows. She obviously knows something."

"Mum was a Prewett," he commented.

Hermione stopped and looked at him. "Do you think she knew Octavia?"

"Maybe."

"Let's go talk to your dad." Hermione's legs felt like they were made of gelatin. There was no way she wanted to marry Blaise Zabini. No way at all. She didn't hold out much hope that any other option lay before her, though.

The whole way to his father's office, Ron muttered over and over about how the parchments must be mistaken. He held her hand carefully, and didn't seem to notice how completely silent she was.

It seemed an age before they reached Arthur's office. Ron tugged her down the hall and into the office. Hermione followed along like a rag doll pulled in his direction.

Arthur looked up at them and smiled, but the smile slipped as he took in their expressions. "What's going on?"

"Dad, do you know an Octavia Prewett?" Ron's voice was defensive and he stuck out his chin, as if ready and inviting a punch.

Arthur blinked. "Octavia? I think your mother had a cousin with that name, third cousin twice removed or something. She could tell you if you asked. But if it's who I think it is, Octavia died during You-Know-Who's first rising. Her parents were attacked when the twins were still tiny and though they didn't find her body, no one ever saw her again. That's if I'm thinking of the right woman. Pretty sure." He scratched his head and nodded. "Why do you ask?"

"Do the Prewetts have a history of problems with the Zabinis?" Hermione asked, holding her breath. Maybe they had something to do with the woman's disappearance.

"Zabinis? Well, I don't know. Molly could answer all your questions, but I don't see how it has anything to do with us."

Hermione wiped the back of her free hand over her sweaty forehead as Ron still had possession of the other hand. "I had a paternity test this morning. It showed Octavia might be my real mum."

"And Augustus Nott is her father. That couldn't be true, though. The Prewetts didn't support Voldemort any more than we did," Ron insisted.

His father's face turned white.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"There were rumors, hints in the family. I don't know, you'd have to ask Molly." He shook his head. "I could be completely wrong."

"Let's Floo her from my office. Thanks, Arthur." Hermione grabbed Ron's hand and dragged him off to her office on the sixth floor. Her office was set to accept Floo calls only, no full-body Flooing. As it was rather small, there really wasn't room for more than conversations anyway.

They hurried down to her office and Hermione grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, tossing it into the flames. "The Burrow."

A moment later she could see the inside of the kitchen and called out to Molly, who was doing dishes and paging through a cook book.

"Molly, we've something to talk to you about, something rather serious. Do you think you could pop over to the Ministry and meet Ron and me in my office?"  
Molly looked rather flustered, her face turning red until it nearly matched her flaming hair. "Of course, dear. Is it urgent?"

"I'm afraid it is. As soon as you can get here, we'd appreciate it."

Molly nodded and said she'd be right over, Hermione pulled back out and turned to Ron. "We'll get to the bottom of this. I promise."

"I couldn't lose you to anyone else, not after all these years. Especially not to anyone like Zabini." Ron pulled her into his arms and ran a hand softly down her back.

Hermione sank into his embrace. Though she was willing to check into every possible option, she held out little hope that the contract could be voided.

After a few minutes, Hermione thought to put together some tea for Molly's arrival. They would need refreshment, she thought. She could use some, at any rate. Her mouth felt uncommonly dry.

She set about making the tea with the pot and supplies she kept on hand. She found the rhythm of the actions soothing and often produced a pot when she was working late or found herself agitated.

The tea was steeping by the time Molly walked into her office. Ron paced back and forth across the room, and Hermione fussed with the selection of biscuits and breads she kept on hand for days when she didn't have time to get lunch.

After Molly came in, Hermione invited her to sit and she began pouring tea while she covered the highlights for Molly. By the time she finished passing around the refreshments, Molly had the short version of the story. If the woman hadn't looked so concerned, hadn't appeared lost in thought, Hermione wouldn't have worried so much. It was the pensive look on the older woman's face that caused her worry.

"Octavia was nearly a decade younger than me," Molly began, holding her teacup and saucer, but not using them.

"Was?" Hermione asked.

"No one—to my knowledge—has heard from or seen her since before you were born. If she had been alive still, I can't imagine why she didn't come forward after You-Know-Who first disappeared. She was a very nice girl, full of fun, wanting something more, something better." She stared into her cup, as if the memories would come faster if she did so. "I don't know for sure, but I heard whispers that she was seeing someone."

She shrugged. "Octavia didn't want the family to know who it was, but after her parents' house was attacked, there was speculation he might have been working for the other side. It is possible she might have been in a relationship with Nott. They were nearly the same age, and I believe they were friendly as children. I would have to ask her sister to get any specifics." Molly took a nervous sip of her tea and let it clatter back to the saucer after barely touching her lips. "I suppose it's fairly urgent, your need for information?"

"Yes, the sooner the better, of course. Could you see what you can find out today?" Hermione took a swallow of her tea. It was too hot and blistered her tongue and throat, but she didn't care. The information wasn't conclusive one way or the other and it made her nervous. She'd go herself, ask the questions crowding her mind, but then there would be questions. Molly would have better luck obtaining the information without telling why she needed to know.

"Yes." Molly stood. "I'll go now and see what I can learn. I'll be in touch as soon as I know anything. Thanks for the tea, it was delicious." She set her full cup back on the desk next to the biscuits Hermione had set out for her.

The older woman gave both Hermione and Ron hugs, then left. Ron stood in the office watching his mother walk away until she turned a corner and left his range of sight. "What do you figure?" he asked after a long moment.

"I think if anyone can get that information from Octavia's family, it's your mother." Hermione stopped when an airplane message flew into her office and landed on her desk. The memo opened itself and Hermione glanced at the paper, then turned her back on it again. It wasn't important enough to give it her full attention yet.

"I suppose there's nothing else we can do between now and when Mum gets word back?" Ron stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets.

"I don't suppose so."

"So I should probably go back to work."

"Yeah. I should probably get some work done too. I have stacks to do." Still, Hermione couldn't imagine sitting down to it at the moment.

"All right, well, I better go then." Ron leaned over and laid a peck on her cheeks. "I'll come get you at the end of the day, yeah?"

"Yeah."

He took two steps toward the door, then turned back to her. "I love you, Hermione."

"I love you too, Ron." She watched him walk away, then turned and sat at her desk.

After fifteen minutes, Hermione decided she wasn't going to get anything worthwhile done. Her mind was too full of her dilemma.

"Fine, I'm going." Hermione stood and collected her personal affects. There were several things she needed to do. The first was to talk to her supervisor and arrange to take the rest of the day off.

AN: After I posted chapter two I had someone comment on another board that they didn't like the double standard in the contract and why couldn't Hermione just have explored her sexuality as much as Blaise. First, I see the wizarding world as being more conservative, not less, than our culture. For heaven's sake they still use quills and parchment instead of ball point pens (and don't even get me started on their sad, sad, lack of computers, lol) I envision them being *at least* fifty years behind us in social mores (otherwise, why would there be so many fics about arranged marriages, =)).

Second, this contract was supposed to have been enacted back when men were allowed to sow their wild oats everywhere, but women were expected to remain virginal until their wedding beds. I can't honestly imagine a contract of marriage not including some kind of expectation that the female remain virginal for her groom--whether they made it to the wedding first or not.

Third, there will be no actual smut in this story--plenty of leading up to, and hints about what happened, but it's PG-13 people, not NC-17. I hope you all decide to stick it out anyway. I PROMISE we'll get some good parts coming up between Hermione and Blaise soon!

Please leave a review if you liked this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Blaise was in a business lunch with Draco Malfoy when pain exploded in his head. Talk of sales figures and the cost of supplies was forced from his thoughts when a sharp, blinding pain clawed at the inside of his skull. Luckily it lasted only seconds, but any time with that kind of pain was far too long.

"Hey, Blaise, are you all right?" Draco asked, touching his friend on the elbow.

Released from the agony, Blaise put his head in his hands as the pain ebbed. The last time he had experienced anything so awful he had been fooling around with a leggy blonde, and ignored the compulsion to pull back from the contact. Only this time—the truth dawned on him. "I'm going to _kill_ her."

He looked up at Draco and gritted his teeth.

"Who are you going to kill?"

Though he wanted to tell his friend everything—heaven only knew he needed someone to talk to who wasn't eager to get him married—he wasn't ready to discuss it. "No one." He couldn't kill her anyway—one of the enchantments on the contract prevented it. He would have to settle with making her life miserable.

"Are you sure you're okay, mate?"

"Yeah, it's all gone now. Funny headache. What were you saying about the decrease in the dragon fertility rates?" He'd have words with his fiancée that evening, even if he had to call in dozens of favors to find the wench.

Draco studied his friend for a moment, then apparently decided everything was okay and returned to their discussion.

* * *

Hermione stopped by her parents' dental practice to check on their planned lunch break, and when she learned she had another hour—it would be a late lunch, indeed—she left a message, then headed for her parents' house.

This wasn't the same house her parents had lived in when she was a child; that one had been purchased by someone else when they moved to Australia during the last year of the war. When they returned to England, the Grangers had purchased another, smaller house in the same neighborhood. Since she had never really lived there, Hermione didn't feel at home in the new place. It seemed hollow and empty, but then, she supposed that might be due to the fact that she had been braving her parents' displeasure since they moved into their new home. They loved her and missed England and their friends there, but hadn't fully forgiven her. Her memories of being in the house were fraught with discomfort and awkward feelings.

Since being in the house again made her uncomfortable, Hermione pulled a bottle of soda from the ice box and decided to take a walk. She sipped the soda as she wandered her old neighborhood, waving to the sweet woman across the street from her old house who had always given her great big candy bars at Halloween. Children laughed and played in front yards and a couple mothers sat and gossiped while they watched their toddlers play in the sandbox of the neighborhood playground.

Hermione took a swing on the far end of the park away from everyone else and leaned her head against the chain. Once she had played in this neighborhood, swung in this very swing with abandon, but now she wondered that she had ever been so care free. Even the previous day she had been a comparative innocent, thinking all was well and seeing only roses and sunshine. Nothing like now.

She took a swallow from her drink and continued to swing just enough to move.

"Hermione, why the long face? Your Mum mentioned a few days ago that you were practically engaged."

Hermione looked up and smiled at the friendly neighbor who had been such a big part of her family's lives since Hermione was little more than a toddler. Jennifer Smith was not only close to Hermione's mum, but she and Hermione shared a close friendship. Added to that, Jennifer's son, Josh, who was a year older than Hermione, had flipped between being Hermione's friend and tormenter growing up. They were nearly as good as brother and sister. Jennifer was one woman she could always turn to when she was confused, even though they didn't see each other often. "Hey, it's good to see you. I'm sorry I haven't been by lately."

"Well, with everything going so well with your young man, I figured you found better things to do than to visit an old woman." She waved her hand and smiled back.

"Old woman? You might be forty—maybe, though you look several years younger than that. You're hardly an old woman, even younger than my mum." Her mum. Oh, how she ached knowing the woman hadn't given birth to her. Had her whole life been a hoax?

"So why the long face? Women in love are supposed to be obnoxiously giddy and nauseatingly happy."

That brought a faint smile to Hermione's lips, however short lived. "Yeah, I've been plenty nauseated in the past couple days." She felt slightly sick now, in fact.

"You're still dating that red-headed man, aren't you? Ron something."

"Yes, Ron Weasley. His mother was a Prewett." This last Hermione muttered to herself, thinking of Octavia. "Only, things are a bit up in the air at the moment. I'm not sure what's going to happen anymore." This might be her best shot at preparing the way—she might tell her parents the truth, but she certainly couldn't admit to this Muggle that there was a magical contract. "There's someone else and . . . well."

Jennifer's look was piercing. "Someone else for you, or for Ron?"

Hermione bit her lip, trying to piece together the right words, to lay a foundation for news that would surely follow in a few days at most. "I don't really know how it happened. One day I wouldn't give this other guy the time of day, and the next I felt like my life was turning upside down." True enough, and just misleading enough to give the impression she wanted. "It's not that I don't care about Ron, it's just . . . complicated."

"Did you have a fight?"

Hermione laughed briefly. "Ron and I have a fight? Such a thing could only be true in the greatest fairytales." Her tone was more than a little sarcastic, since bickering seemed to be second nature to them. "Sometimes my life seems like a storybook, though I doubt there will be any fairy-tale endings. Ron and I've never been officially engaged. We discussed marriage, but I kept putting him off saying I wasn't ready." _Especially right now, but ready or not . . ._She shook her head, pushing that thought aside."Did you ever think about oh, hundreds of years ago when families used to betroth their offspring to total strangers? Can you imagine not having the choice of whom you marry, but to have it thrust upon you because of a decision made decades earlier? Do you suppose those women felt their loss of choice, or did they not experience that loss, because they knew no different?" She heard cars honking in the distance, the happy voices of children, and still felt like the scene around her wasn't real.

"That's a rather loaded question. With trouble in paradise facing you head on, do you wish to return to the days of arranged marriages? It might be easier in many ways, but it certainly lacks in freedom." The woman reached out and ran her fingers down Hermione's wild hair, just touching the strands that shone like copper in the sunlight.

Hermione barely registered the touch and took another long pull from her soda, then turned toward her companion. "After all we've done to fight tyranny and oppression, there's little I can think of that would be worse than to return to the old ways. I'm sorry," she looked up into Jennifer's eyes. "I'm downright depressing right now. Forgive me. I feel like my life has been picked up and tossed in a blender. Once it's had a whirl, I hope there are enough familiar pieces to put it back together with some semblance of order. You've been very good to listen to my ramblings. I probably shouldn't spend so much time reading those historical romance novels." She smiled brightly, and completely insincerely as she lied through her teeth. There was enough romance in her life, or so she had thought, and more than enough medieval thought in her job that she didn't need to waste time with fiction.

"Well, don't let it get you down. I'm sure whatever personal troubles you may be having, you'll work them out. Sometimes the future looks bleaker than it actually is. And don't be such a stranger, I miss having you around." Jennifer gave Hermione a one-armed hug and let her go.

As Hermione walked away, she wondered if the woman didn't have things right. She was single, never married, raising Josh on her own—and it was clear she adored him, and had taken Hermione into her heart as well. She was made to be a mother. Still, Josh was grown and so now Jennifer's life was her own, and she owed nothing to anyone. Hermione wondered how that felt.

Then she wondered how she was supposed to address her parentage with the people who had never forgiven her for protecting them. Did she ask them straight out? Did she assume it was all a mistake? Did she beat around the bush? And how did she explain to them about her situation with Zabini? If she really wasn't their child, how did she get to be in their care?

It was all too much, too confusing. And she had less than fifteen minutes to figure out how to discuss this with her parents.

* * *

Hermione put on a happy face through her second lunch of the day as she talked with her parents and listened to them discuss their work and patients. They talked about when she was a kid, and she innocently asked about when she was born. She hoped it sounded innocent, anyway.

"I must have told you that story a million times," her mother said with a twinkle in her eye. The difficulties between them seemed temporarily suspended by the food and conversation.

"I know, but I love to hear it," Hermione said. She was hoping to pry their minds for a bit of extra information, now she had some idea what she was looking for.

"It had been a difficult pregnancy, so difficult we thought we might lose you. We had been trying to have a baby for three years so we were so excited for your birth. The night was stormy and cool for September and we had trouble negotiating the roads to get you delivered," her mother said.

"But you made it to the hospital with time to spare." Hermione grinned. It was the least awkward conversation she'd held with them since their return from Australia.

"Of course, I'm a great driver," her father said.

"We were worried because you were late and we were afraid you'd be rather too large for normal delivery," her mother said.

This was new information for Hermione. There had never been mention of concern about the health of the pregnancy in the past.

"But the contractions were coming. You surely did want to be born," he added, giving his daughter's hand a squeeze. "We thought you were going to be a boy, we were certain of it, actually, but you fooled us all, including the ultrasound technician who had assured us you would be a son."

"You can never know about these things," her mother said with a bright laugh.

Again, new information Hermione had never heard. Why hadn't they mentioned this before?

"And then there was a nurse, handing you to me, and you were so perfect, not wrinkled and blotchy like most newborns. Your head wasn't cone shaped or your hands purple. Most babies don't look so good until they're a couple days old, but you were perfectly beautiful. Honey," he turned to his wife, "Don't you remember the nurse who gave her to us? I doubt I've ever seen her again, but sometimes I'm reminded of her. Not her looks, really, but her carriage, the tone of her voice, the way she held little Hermione as though she were her own daughter, and then handed her over to you, asking you to take very good care of her."

His wife smiled and stared into space. "She was such a kind woman. She told me what a special blessing you were for us, and that you would turn out to be very special, indeed."

"And she proved to be almost prophetic."

Hermione could feel the tears pour down her cheeks as she heard their words. So much new information, things she hadn't expected to ever hear. Had the woman, the nurse, been her real mother? And why hadn't she heard about any of these things before? "Could you tell me what the woman looked like? I know it's been nearly twenty-one years, but I'm curious. You seem to remember her so clearly."

Her father smiled. "I hadn't thought of this in years, almost as if the memory had been wiped away, but now I can see it clearer than ever."

His words left her cold. Perhaps the memory had been wiped away—or rather, suppressed. She had to do some rather tricky spell work to restore her parents' memories when the war was over and things got back to normal. Perhaps there had been a few modifications in there she hadn't set herself. What if she had unknowingly undone those modifications as well, or at least, some of them? "What did she look like?"

"She was about your build with wild and curly hair, a lot like yours, but she wore it pulled back in a braid and it was black. It was easy to see the hair would be unmanageable most of the time though, since so much of it was flying away from the braid."

"That happens when you work for hours in a setting like the hospital, dear," his wife reminded him.

Mr. Granger nodded. "Of course. She looked almost scared when she handed you to your mother. And so sad, as though she had lost something recently, something you reminded her of."

Hermione knew then, with every ounce of her being, that the 'nurse' who had been at her delivery, had literally been delivering her to her parents. So what had happened to the baby boy they had expected? Perhaps he had been still born. Obviously despite what Mrs. Wealsey believed, Octavia was still alive, or she wouldn't have been around to spur the solicitor to send out the notice. Hermione asked a few more questions of her parents—for the people who raised her would always be her parents, regardless of what the parchment that morning had said—then parted with them without bothering to explain her predicament.

There would be time to break their hearts later.

* * *

What Hermione wanted most now was to speak to one of the parties involved, either Augustus Nott, or Octavia, and since her 'father' had been killed in the battle at Hogwarts, Hermione figured that left the illusive birth mother. She could send a letter, beg for some answers, but wasn't sure she would get them. After Octavia took such pains to never be found, how could Hermione expect to draw her out?

Hermione found herself back at the Ministry, sitting at her desk shortly before the office closed for the day. Ron said he would pick her up, after all, so she figured she ought to be there when he arrived.

She was just filing away Theo's forms from that morning when there was a knock on her office door. She looked up at him and smiled. "Hey, Ron, did you have a good day at work?"

"Did I have a good day at work?" He sent her an exasperated look. "No, of course I didn't have a good day. You know what my lunchtime was like."

Guilt assailed her. "Yeah, sorry."

"I never asked what Nott was doing here earlier. Does he know about the contract?"

"Not as far as I know." Hermione ran a hand through her tangled hair and leaned back. "It was so weird asking him about his family, all of that other polite conversation, knowing about our relationship now."

"What was he doing here? You talked about his family?" Ron grew defensive, his eyes narrowing at her.

"He was getting a permit for a magical animal. You know, the other, more boring part of my job?" She didn't find that aspect of her job boring, but she knew he did.

"That's all he was doing here? That seems rather too friendly for my taste."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, he's a nice guy, he always has been. We talk briefly here and there. If he's actually my half-brother, we may speak again in the future." Hermione wanted to strangle him for being so dense, but she held back.

Ron crossed his arms over her chest, his face hard as flint. "How long have you been mates, then?"

"We're hardly mates. We barely know one another." Though she wouldn't consider them close friends, Hermione knew this comment was misleading at the best. She and Theo had held long conversations about his animals and projects when he had come in to fill out paperwork. They had even run into each other at lunchtime one day and sat together to talk about his business, and the laws she was trying to change. She wasn't the least romantically attracted to him—thank goodness, considering what she knew now—but as the strange friendship had formed between them, though guarded—she found she enjoyed his companionship.

"Checking up on his family seems awfully chummy to me."

Sometimes Ron could be so obtuse! "Oh, will you lay off? It's not as if I'm happy about what's going to happen. It's not like I want to marry Blaise Zabini. The poser." The thought still made her feel sick.

"You seem rather accepting of it," he pointed out.

"I've learned a few things today that make the parchment's proclamation make more sense." She rubbed her temples, thinking about the discussion she still needed to have with her parents. If there was a way around it, some way to make them think she was wildly in love, she would jump at the chance. What was that they'd said about honesty, again? Yikes! She didn't know what to do.

"I just bet Nott is thrilled to invite the girl who stunned his father into the family with open arms."

She didn't want to fight with him anymore. Couldn't he just let it go? "It's not like Theo was a Death Eater. He chose his own path. You should remember he never treated me like a second-class citizen even in school. If this has to be true, at least I'll be related to someone decent."

There was a long pause before Ron spoke, and his voice was considerably quieter. "I wanted you to be related to me, and not through my mum's third cousin twice removed." He turned sad eyes on her.

A lump rose in Hermione's throat as she slid her arms around him and held him tight. When he reciprocated and pressed her head against his chest with one hand, she burrowed her face into his shirt. "Me too."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Though Hermione invited Ron in when they stopped at her flat, he refused, saying he needed to think about a few things and would contact her the next day. She was secretly glad to have the evening to herself.

After studying for several hours, she set the pot to cooking some rice while a knife diced and chopped vegetables and chicken for stir fry. While she kept an eye on that, she reviewed werewolf legislation enacted during the Umbridge era. In order for her arguments to be listened to, she needed to prove the anti-werewolf legislation didn't improve the safety of the wizarding, or Muggle worlds.

Olive oil sizzled in her pan and she had just added the meat and vegetables. She reached for her special spice mix when the front door slammed open.

She whirled around, her wand flying into her hands from the sleeve holster as she silently and wandlessly erected a shield around her to ward off any possible attack. The war may have been over for a while now, but she still practiced vigilance.

Zabini stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest and a dangerous expression on his face.

She ended the defense shield with a roll of her eyes. "Zabini, haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"Have you ever heard that infidelity is the leading cause of domestic violence?" He walked forward pointing his wand behind him to slam the door closed. Another blast of light and the locks clicked. "What did you think you were doing at lunchtime today? Decided to take advantage of the remaining time before the wedding to cheat on me? There's no way around that particular enchantment. I should know, if there had been I definitely would have had a _lot_ more fun in the past eleven months."

It hadn't even occurred to her that he would know. She'd forgotten that provision in the contract. "I wasn't thinking—"

"_You_ weren't thinking? Don't give me that. I know how hard you have to work to ignore the compulsion to pull away from someone. I know how much pain it took to get you to pull back. If you suddenly get desperate for a shag, you know where you can turn—you're looking at him." He did not look particularly excited by that notion. "I was in a business meeting. I mean, seriously, in the middle of the day? Less than twenty-four hours after finding out about the contract? It's not like you've pushed so hard before."

Hermione sighed, feeling her headache coming back, but at least this time it wasn't trying to jam its way out of her head. This was only a dull ache behind her eyes, and growing slowly. "All right, maybe I was thinking I wanted my first time to be with someone I _love_ instead of someone who has always treated me worse than the dirt under his feet. Don't worry, I'm not likely to make that mistake again."

Tears threatened and she fought to keep them back and had a revelation. She turned on him with hurt and angry eyes. "Now I know what the cause was of my quick but excruciating headache a few months back. Call it getting even if you like, though that wasn't my intent. I just wanted my first time to be special." Okay, so maybe special wasn't quite the word. Maybe she had just wanted it to be with someone besides him, but she wouldn't say that.

"Special? With Weasley? You must have _very_ low expectations."

She gritted her teeth, wanting to hit him. The temptation was almost too great. "It won't happen again." She turned back to the food cooking on the stove and flipped off the heat beneath the rice, then gave the chicken and veggies a quick stir. She fought back tears, but lost the battle as one slipped out and trailed down her cheek. "If you're done yelling at me, you're welcome to leave."

Several seconds passed before she heard the lock click open, and then the sound of the door opening and closing as he left. As soon as she could be sure he was gone, she allowed herself to dissolve into sobs.

* * *

In the morning Blaise received the promised note from Hermione to arrange dinner with him and his mom. It was brief and to the point and set the appointment for that evening, if it was amenable for them. Blaise sent the note on to his mother via a house elf and returned to his work. A moment later another owl arrived, this one with an invitation for him to join a business associate and his wife for dinner the following week. There would be some advantages to being married, Blaise figured. Hermione was a pure-blood and a war hero and would therefore be an asset in negotiations. She was reasonably intelligent and aware of current events. The fact that he was desperate to negotiate the rough waters ahead with this associate made this dinner very important.

"Then again," he muttered to himself, jotting the appointment on his calendar, "she was raised by Muggles. Perhaps they conditioned the natural graciousness out of her. I suppose it'll be my responsibility to teach her better. What a waste of time." Though he was disgusted by the non-choice placed before him, he had been raised knowing he may have no choice about whom he married. Love wasn't really in the picture here, only practicalities. Still, he had expected to marry a woman he at least _liked_.

He was still disgusted with himself over their encounter at her flat the previous night. He had gone to lay down the law, to let her know how it was going to be between them, and she had tried to lie, then turned vulnerable. He had never been particularly susceptible to tears before. This time, though, he had ached to reach out and touch her, to sooth and calm her, and tell her everything would be all right. Such an action was completely opposite to his personality, though, and he had no intention of making a fool of himself, or appearing weak in front of her.

He thought more about the situation.

Theo ran his family business, just as Blaise ran his own. They had dealings with each other through the truce and partnership that had been drawn up in the contract that now made Theo's bushy-haired half sister Blaise's future bride.

Until he ran into her at the Leaky Cauldron, Blaise hadn't seen Granger since the final battle at Hogwarts, and even then he had only caught glimpses of her. None of them were looking their best after that fight, and the pictures of her in the Daily Prophet had certainly not been flattering. At the time, it hadn't occurred to him why he had noticed—why he had always noticed her over the years. Had the charms on the contract been working even then?

He had straddled the fence on the subject of He Who Must Not Be Named until Snape took over as the new Headmaster. While the new headmaster still wasn't that bad to deal with, the Carrow siblings and the changes made in the wizarding world were enough to make Blaise fight against the megalomaniac in the battle of Hogwarts. He could see how the despot's policies would negatively impact business dealings as well as his personal life choices. Not that those choices were proving as plentiful as he had expected. And as much as he felt superior over those who weren't pure blooded, he recognized those of Muggle or mixed-blood origins made significant contributions to society. It took a lot of hands to run a society like theirs and even squibs like Filch had their place.

He wondered if Theo knew about his long-lost sister, or if Theo's mum knew about her husband's infidelities. Then there was the question of Hermione's Muggle parents. Did they ever tell her she didn't belong to them? Did they even know? He dismissed that question as unimportant—he didn't really care what they thought or wanted anyway. They were only Muggles.

Perhaps he would have to make a visit to his future brother-in-law, and see which way the wind blew. If nothing else, it might prove entertaining.

* * *

Blaise found Theo working with Thestrals in a pen near the business office an hour later. "What's going on, Blaise?" Theo asked as he looked up from the bin he'd just conjured some raw meat into from the barrow at the end of the paddock.

"I received an interesting letter from my solicitor over the weekend. I wondered if you'd heard about the closer relationship we'll soon be developing." Blaise figured he'd have little enough enjoyment being married to the know-it-all. He might as well take what pleasure he could now. If Theo really knew nothing about the events unfolding in Blaise's life, Blaise wanted to be sure to savor the shock and surprise.

"What relationship?"

Blaise walked closer and placed a hand on the railing of the paddock while Theo moved to the next bin, giving it a tap to fill it, then checking the water and refreshing it as well. "Do you know how our families came to be involved in this business together?"

"I don't know. It's been this way forever." He shot Blaise a questioning look. "Why are you wasting my time? I have a load of work to do. We're getting a new shipment today and I need to prepare for it."

"I think you'll find this conversation well worth your time." He settled in, leaning against the railing. "More than eighty years ago our ancestors fought over rights to the business you run. They finally decided to compromise. Part of that contract entailed the next female member of your family marrying a male member of mine. Or vice-versa, but it happened to work out this direction. Unfortunately, both our families have been inclined to produce all males until recently. Your father changed that trend when he finally produced a female."

"My dad," Theo said as he turned from the last bin without filling it, "has been dead for over three years. I find it difficult to believe he's managed to father a child in his advanced stage of decay."

"I didn't mean _that_ recently. I find I am to marry her in less than a month. Since she turns twenty-one before I do, we can't put it off any longer. It seems you'll be my brother-in-law."

"My parents don't have a daughter. They have me, and I don't turn twenty-one for nearly a year." Theo eyed Blaise suspiciously. "What are you on about?"

Blaise vaulted over the paddock fence. "I didn't say your parents had a daughter. I said your _father_ did." Enjoying Theo's confusion, and wanting to draw out the drama a bit, he sauntered over to Theo, taking his time. "Unfortunately, the contract doesn't appear to distinguish between legitimate and illegitimate births."

"So are you claiming Millicent Bulstrode is my sister? Or perhaps it is the Patil twins you're speaking of?" Theo was clearly unimpressed with Blaise's story. He turned back to the feed dish and tapped it to fill it with raw meat, and then refreshed and refilled the water. The thestrals that stood nearby, waiting, immediately dipped their heads and began chewing.

Blaise turned his face from the sight. He didn't particularly like to watch the scaly black beasts eat. He wasn't all that happy about being able to see them in the first place. "Nothing so lucky, mate. Try Hermione Granger, daughter of Augustus Nott and Octavia Prewett."

Theo's arms went slack as he looked at Blaise. "What are you on about?"

"I'm serious. Hermione Granger Nott—that's how it's written on the document—as representative of your family, is going to marry me in less than a month's time, and there's not a damned thing I can do about it."

Theo leaned back against the feed dish he had just filled and a thestral snuffled his neck with a bloody mouth. Theo moved away and sent a cleansing charm at his neck, though it appeared to be done automatically. "Does she know?"

"I believe we were notified the same day."

Lifting a hand to wipe his face, still stunned, Theo paused. "She knew, but she said nothing about it when I saw her yesterday? No wonder Weasley gave me such a nasty look. Though to be honest, he hasn't needed much reason before."

Though he knew he shouldn't take such pleasure, Blaise enjoyed the way his old housemate's expression cycled through his many emotions, trying to figure out where he stood on the issue. The shock and confusion should be short-lived enough. Theo always did bounce back quickly.

"But she's a Muggle-born."

"Apparently not. Pure-blood, as Octavia belongs to a pure-blood line as well as your father. Muggle-raised, of course, which is nearly as bad as Muggle-born, but it could be worse, I suppose." He sneered when he thought of her family. "I'm not sure how. I certainly wouldn't have chosen to marry her given the slightest option." He found he rather enjoyed playing up his disgust over marrying Hermione, as he was beginning to think of her in his head. In actuality, he was starting to think there might be a few advantages to being married to her. Political, mostly, but if she decided to be pleasant and get along—and not touch Weasley again—they might have a good enough marriage.

Theo's gaze shot to Blaise. "I don't know what your problem is. She's nice enough, quite pretty, and she's smart. She'll give you something to think about, anyway, not like those simpering fools you usually date."

"If it wouldn't be incest, I'd tell you to take her yourself. Smart women are too much work, and she's only passably pretty. Thank Merlin her looks have improved since we were in school." He did have a memory flash of her dressed up for the Yule Ball fourth year. She had caught his eye because it was the first time her bushy hair hadn't been her predominate feature. Hermione had been _almost_ pretty that night. He thought of the two times he'd seen her in the past week. She was no great beauty, but with a gallon of Sleakeasy's she wouldn't disgrace him in public. Then again, she had looked nice at the Leaky Cauldron the previous weekend.

"When I get caught up here tonight, I'll have to try and have a chat with my dear sister," Theo said, moving toward the paddock gate. "I expect I've a few things to say to her."

He didn't look happy, and Blaise couldn't find it in himself to feel sorry Theo was going to lay into Hermione. The chit deserved it for even existing, if that existence was going to disturb his peaceful life.

* * *

Hermione was nearly to the bottom of her work pile when Theo showed up in her office. She knew with only a look that he wasn't there for business, but that it was more personal.

He stopped in the doorway and stood silently, giving her a questioning look.

She hated it when people did that, leaving her to speak first.

She sighed. "Did you hear from the solicitor or Blaise himself?"

"Blaise. Did you intend to tell me, or just let me continue on in ignorance? And who is this Octavia Prewett?" He stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him, stopping a few feet from her desk, his hands deep in his jacket pockets. He had clearly not had time to clean up from work and his shoes, trousers and jacket had all seen better days. He also smelled slightly of animal droppings.

She stood and walked around her desk to sit on it, bringing them closer together. "I hadn't had a chance to accept it, to take it all in yet yesterday. I only learned of it the night before. Octavia is apparently a relation of Ron's Mum. Molly did some poking around for me yesterday, but hasn't gotten back to me yet. From what she remembers, though, it seems there was some speculation that Octavia was in a secret relationship just before she disappeared. That the person could be a Death Eater would make sense. It was believed she died when she didn't reappear after the Dark Lord's first demise. The timeline fits with my birth. I haven't told my parents yet. They don't remember. They think my mum gave birth to me."

He searched her face for clues. "What do you think really happened?"

Hermione shrugged and leaned back against her desk. "Your father's dead and almost certainly had no idea I even existed. Octavia is missing and nearly unreachable. She's really the only one with answers. However, it sounds as though my parents' baby was supposed to be a boy. Maybe I'm headed in all the wrong directions with this, but it makes me wonder what happened to the child my mum gave birth to. Was he still born? Did she dump him at some orphanage?"

"You didn't know they were expecting a boy?" He looked doubtful.

Hermione bit her bottom lip for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell him. If he was her brother, though, she wanted to have a good relationship with him, and there was little reason to keep it a secret. There were already a large number of people who knew about it. "The summer after our sixth year I altered my parents' memories and convinced them to sell out and move to Australia. Their identities changed and they didn't remember anything true about their lives here, including the fact that they had ever had a daughter." It was harder to admit to Theo than she had expected. Tears stung her eyes as she thought of the rift her actions had brought between herself and her parents. Not that she regretted protecting them; they would likely have been dead if she hadn't acted as she did.

"When the war was over, I went to Australia and corrected their memories. It appears that whatever I did to reverse my spells also affected some of the memory charms from before. I haven't dared tell them I'm not biologically their child. I don't want to face them, knowing how upset they'll be." Tears rose to her eyes, but she managed to hold them back.

"Don't you think it will upset them when they find out you're choosing to marry a virtual stranger who thinks Muggles are scum instead of the nice chap you've dated for years?" Theo stepped over beside her, leaning back on another corner of her desk.

Hermione studied him, looking for a family resemblance, trying to figure out how he felt about everything. "There's no way around it, really. One way or another they're going to be confused and upset and the tenuous relationship we've formed is likely to go downhill from here. I keep thinking if I wait a little longer, maybe I can eek out a few more memories before they walk away. And then I wonder if I should tell them the truth immediately, will they be upset with me for putting it off for even a few days, and can we maintain our relationship? And even then, how much do I admit to? I certainly can't tell them Blaise and I have always disliked each other—that would not go over well at all. And what about your mum? Does she know your father wasn't faithful to her?"

He pursed his lips and considered. "I don't think it'll come as a surprise. Not really. I'll try to see how she feels about all of this over the next few days." There was a long pause before he spoke again. "I noticed you referred to dad as _my_ father, not _our_ father."

"My birth parents supplied building blocks for life, Octavia incubated me for months, but neither of them were parents. The people who raised me are my real parents." She realized how that sounded. "I'm not trying to say your dad was a bad father, I doubt he knew of my existence—as far as _my_ being related to him, in any case. And I'm sorry for your loss, but I can't feel anything for him myself." _At least not anything positive._ But there was no reason to get into that.

He shuffled his foot against the floor, not looking her in the face. "You didn't know him, probably never met him."

Hermione hesitated again. "He was captured in the Department of Mysteries at the end of our fifth year, wasn't he?"

He seemed surprised that she knew. "Yes. He broke out of prison with the rest of them the next year."

"I stunned him at the Ministry." She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see his reaction. "We were fighting for our lives, Theo, and I stunned the man who gave me life. That keeps circling in my head." She couldn't feel sorry about it, but it was an ironic turn of events.

She felt Theo's hand on her arm and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. "He loved me, but he wasn't a good man. He wasn't often kind and he deserved anything you gave him. He nearly destroyed the family business through mismanagement over the years. I know he and my mum weren't very happy together, but it was an arranged marriage for political reasons."

"That's not making me feel better about my upcoming nuptials to Blaise, you know. I'm _really_ not looking forward to becoming Hermione Zabini." Tears pricked at her eyes again, but she willed them back and none fell.

Again, he squeezed her arm. "Blaise comes off as a braggart, and a sizeable prat, but there is a reason we're friendly. He's got some good qualities too." He studied her for a moment. "How's Weasley feeling about it?"

"Horrible, of course. How's he supposed to feel? We've talking about getting married. I don't know if he's owled Harry. Probably not, Harry's out of town on assignment. I don't know who he's talking to about this with everything going on. And again, how do I tell my parents?"

"Have you looked into breaking the contract? If both parties are willing, sometimes it's possible."

She shook her head and threaded her fingers together on her lap. "We didn't make the contract though, remember? The two people who made it died decades ago, so there's no way out of it but death. Personally, I don't think death is such a great option. You could recommend suicide to Blaise for me though, it wouldn't bother me overly much." She was lying of course, she wouldn't really like to see him dead, even if she wasn't the least happy about her situation.

Theo laughed. "So you don't consider murder to be the answer?"

"No." She rolled here eyes. "There are provisions against it anyway. Bloody ancestors seem to have thought of everything. Trying to defy the contract has too many negative consequences, including some to your business."

His hand moved from her arm to her shoulder. He gave it a squeeze, then released her. "I always admired you in school, you know. I think you're far more devious than you let on. And if the two of us had been Ravenclaws instead, I think we might have been friends years earlier."

Hermione smiled at him. "We could put past prejudices behind us now and work on friendship more, if you'd like."

He smiled back. "I think that sounds great."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

That night Hermione found herself standing on the front step at Zabini Manor just outside Dover. It was huge with a view over the cliffs and a spreading property. She could feel the ward that would make Muggles would look right past the property, much as they did The Leaky Cauldron in London.

The house was vast, at least as long and as wide as an American football field—probably more—three full stories plus the attic space, which was tall enough to constitute another floor. Hermione knew Blaise's mother, Patrizia, had married well seven times and been left a widow every time, so she was certainly well off. Rumor had it the property they lived on was Blaise's through his father, but that the family had several other holdings owned by his mother.

Hermione lifted her hand to knock on the front door when it swung open and she was greeted by a house elf. "Miss is welcome," he said in a tiny voice. He wore an impeccably clean tea towel like a toga.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. I believe I'm expected."

"Yes, Miss, please come in. Mistress waits for you in the sitting room." The elf led her down the hall that boasted high ceilings, gleaming wood floors and sparkling mirrors, and he stopped at an open doorway. "This way, Miss."

"Thank you." She didn't know the elf's name, and felt awkward asking, so she simply smiled and entered the room as bidden.

Patrizia Zabini was a beautiful woman, just as Hermione had heard. She was tall and black with a lithe frame, a classically beautiful face and a welcoming smile that eased some of Hermione's discomfort. "Hermione, I'm so glad to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you."

_Not much from your son that you'd like to share, I imagine._ "That's so kind of you. Your house is beautiful, Mrs. Zabini." She took the offered chair and settled into incredible comfort.

"Please, call me Patrizia. You'll have to take a tour of the house later, since this is the main house where Blaise and I live. He occasionally visits one of our other dwellings when he has pressing business or simply needs to get away, but most of the year he lives here with me."

Hermione smiled, though she didn't know how she felt about living with this woman. What kind of mother-in-law would she be? Would she be overbearing or would they mostly go their own ways? Would the woman understand Hermione's need to work, or find fault with her career?

"That can, of course, be changed if we find the arrangement isn't working out properly," Blaise said as he came through the doorway.

"You're late," his mother chided him, though she smiled indulgently at him. She held out a hand to him.

"I do apologize." He grasped his mother's hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then turned toward Hermione.

Though she had seen him every day in school, Hermione didn't think she had given him her full appreciation or attention before. His face had always seemed a bit pinched with his high cheek bones and long, slanting eyes. Now that she'd met his mother, she could see where he got his looks, and appreciated them more than before. He stood a couple inches taller than Ron, and had a bit more meat on him. He also looked far more polished—but he always had been, so that wasn't much of a surprise. In school he had been a bit of a dandy, nothing as bad as Malfoy, but still more than most of the other guys she knew.

He seemed to look her over as well. Though her hair was still essentially the same as it always was, with the aid of a new potion on the market, and some new charms Ginny had put her onto, Hermione was now able to make it look nice instead of out of control most of the time. Today had been a good hair day. It didn't hurt that she had filled out physically in the past few years either. Hermione knew she wasn't a great beauty, like his mother, but she wasn't chopped liver anymore either. The appreciation in his eyes told her he agreed with that sentiment.

"Hermione, I do apologize for my tardiness. It was unforgiveable of me." He picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the back.

It was all Hermione could do not to snatch her hand away from him. This was one of the boys who had made her life miserable in school, a man she was going to have to marry. What was with the suave formality, anyway? Was it all for his mother's benefit? "I assure you, you aren't that late." She studied his easy manner and felt her hand tingling from his touch. The charms on that contract were certainly working. Every time she saw him she felt more drawn to him, physically, even if her mind was unconvinced. "It's been several years since we were in school together. I'm afraid I haven't kept up on what you're doing now."

"The family businesses keep me busy. I've noted your work to improve the plight of the house-elf. The legislation you've spurred on has been considerably better thought out than your efforts on the issue in school." He sat in a nearby chair and she thought she saw a glint in his eye that said he was playing with her.

Though she doubted his comments were meant as compliments, Hermione smiled. "I hope it will bring a bit more equity to a system that has long needed reform. I'm also working on changing werewolf legislation."

His smile grew tight and his mother interjected a comment of her own. "Werewolves! Why would you want to do that? They're just monsters."

Used to similar comments, Hermione kept her temper under control and forced a polite smile. "Actually, I knew a man who was a werewolf, a very kind-hearted, good man who had no choice whatsoever about being bitten. Twenty-six days a cycle he was perfectly normal. It was only during the other two that he was dangerous. My plans include establishing a safe place for werewolves to go during the full moon in order to keep society safe, while making it easier for them to obtain jobs and receive the days off work that they need. Many werewolves are a threat simply because they have no options, and cannot get jobs. Society has turned what is really an illness against them. The vast majority of them can be easily integrated into society in such a way as to diminish their threat, and prevent the spread of the disease. Ostracizing them only makes them less inclined to take precautions against infecting or hurting others during the full moon."

"That's very interesting," Patrizia said, though she looked as if she were more revolted than anything.

"Apple pie in the sky, if you ask me. But everyone needs a hobby, hey?" Blaise's eyes were dark and mean when he said that, belying the easy going tone in his voice.

Hermione simply lifted an eyebrow, but didn't deign to respond to his question. Instead, she turned to Patrizia, determined to show impeccable manners—despite the way her tolerance was beginning to fray. "I imagine with the many demands around the house and your various estates that your time is rather tight. I appreciate your taking time to have me over tonight."

"Nonsense. Since Blaise came of age, he's been running the business interests himself, and he maintains most of the other properties, popping in to visit, to verify that the staff is taking proper care of each one. I simply fill my time with social engagements and shopping, putting together activities and parties. Your wedding is going to be the biggest event of the year. Just you wait and see what I've been planning. It's going to be spectacular!"

Patrizia touched Hermione's arm in that way that suggests intimacy with near strangers. "You'll love the social opportunities available to you now that everyone will know you're a pure-blood and since you'll be a Zabini. Hostesses that never would have tolerated you before will be clamoring to have you over. Everyone should have known you couldn't be Muggle-born, not with the kinds of scores you received in school. Blood will out, won't it my dear?" A trill of laughter pealed from her throat in what men would undoubtedly consider appealing. Hermione was disgusted. She honestly didn't know if she would ever grow to even tolerate this woman, never mind like her.

Blaise must have seen Hermione readying her less-than-friendly response, for he stood and grabbed her hand, tugging on it. "Hermione, please, come for a walk with me. I'm sure you'd like to see the grounds and take a tour of the house, at least the main areas for now."

She wanted to say a _very_ impolite variation of no and walk right out of the house, never to return, but a part of her knew it wouldn't do any good to blow up or walk away. She didn't care for the penalties enforced if she chose to ignore the contract. Smiling, though she suspected it looked more like a grimace, Hermione turned to Patrizia, "You will excuse us for a moment, won't you?"

"Of course, the whole purpose of your being here was so you could get to know each other, dear. I'll just go check and make sure the house-elves have gotten everything ready for dinner. They do tend toward laziness, you know." Patrizia waved them away, then turned and walked out herself—the picture of graceful gentility.

Hermione's teeth ground together. Laziness? A house elf? Was the woman mad? She managed to get all the way out onto the grounds before she wrenched her hand from Blaise's. "I'll have you know that most of the Ravenclaws are half blood at best, and some of the most pathetic students in our year were pure-bloods. Of all the revoltingly elitist attitudes. And what's with your mum's attitude about house elves?"

"Calm down, Granger, you're not some Mudblood on a mission anymore, you're a pure-blood, and you're engaged to the Zabini heir. You can't afford to continue on in your common save-the-house-elves way." He tugged on his shirt sleeves, straightening it so it fell crisp and smooth against his firm chest.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And why not?"

"I told you why not. There are expectations. Unless you can manage to break this contract so we won't have to marry, you'll learn to bend to our ways. You might as well give your notice at work, too. Zabini wives do not work outside the house."

She wasn't even going to acknowledge his last remark. He was off his nut if he actually thought she was going to quit her job to please him. "Your ways? But you don't intend to change at all to make me more comfortable? You don't think my ways are worthy of your attention?"

"Of course not. But we'll work the Muggle out of you in no time. It is a shame you ended up living in that world. How did it happen anyway?"

Ready to claw his eyes out, Hermione formed her hands into fists at her side. "I don't know, perhaps my pure-blooded mother thought the wizarding world was narrow minded and in need of other _viewpoints_. Putting me in the Muggle world for the first decade of my life meant I got a wider view of reality."

Blaise grasped her by the shoulder and turned her to face the house. "You want reality? This house is your reality, your future. You have things to live up to, the first of which will be discontinuing your association with the Muggles you called family. You can move into the manor this weekend and we'll begin the process of turning you into the woman you should have been if we'd known about the contract when you were only a child."

Hermione jerked her shoulder from his grasp. "Get a grip. They're my parents, regardless of whether they're biologically related to me or not. Nothing you do or say can change who they are to me. They may choose to distance themselves from me when they learn the truth, but you can't make me think pure-bloods are the end all and be all. And I am not your Barbie doll."

"What's a Barbie doll?" His hands curled into fists at his side. "I've always known my wife would be the epitome of good breeding and a leader in society. If I'm forced to marry you against my will, you _will_ be that woman."

"Through my job at the Ministry, I am being a leader of society, in my own way. I will not be quitting. And my husband will _not_ act like a high-handed idiot. I will not bow down to you simply because some contract requires us to marry. You can either treat me like an equal and accept the good qualities with the bad, or you can off yourself and put us both out of our misery." By now she was screaming at him, in response to his loud-toned demands.

His face reddened—a difficult thing to manage when one is as dark skinned as he was. "Are you saying you'd rather see me dead?"

"Than have you demand I change _everything_ I am to please your narrow-minded, bigoted views, yeah. I'm not some brainless bimbo you can mold in your mother's likeness. I have more important goals than _shopping_ and _parties_."

"You do my mum an injustice. She's much more than you think." His eyes hardened at her words. "And I'm not some self-sacrificing buffoon who has no aspirations higher than running a joke shop. I have to keep up appearances to do business, and my wife's actions reflect on me."

Hermione was practically vibrating with anger by now. "Leave Ron out of this. You don't know anything about him. He's a hundred times better than you. And this situation is not his fault anymore than it's yours or mine."

"Well, I'll agree that it's not his, but I'm not so sure it's not yours. You're no longer the Mudblood and I won't have you acting like one, that's all I'm saying. There are expectations."

"I don't appreciate that word and I won't tolerate it—regardless of my blood status. If I hear it from your mouth again, you'll be very sorry. I assure you. You can go to hell if you think I'm suddenly going to become a different person just because my true background has been revealed." Hermione whirled away and Apparated back to her flat, fuming.

And stumbled over Ron, who sat on the front porch.

"Where've you been? I've been waiting for you," he said.

"What do you mean? We didn't have a date." Her voice was clipped as she tried to get her anger back under control. She was livid, and hated the way her life was falling apart. This was really not a good time for her to run into Ron again.

"I said I'd contact you tonight, and you're always home on week nights." He paused, then spoke more cautiously. "Are you okay? You look ready to chew nails."

He was not going to be happy. The realization hurt, but she couldn't coddle him. He needed to know what was what. Blaise might be upset that she was alone with Ron again, but she had to talk to him face to face. "I had dinner scheduled at the Zabinis." Hermione lifted her wand and spelled the door open, allowing Ron in behind her. She might as well have two rows tonight as spread them out a bit. At least it would be done with, then.

"What were you doing there?"

"Blaise's mum invited me to eat, so we could discuss matters." Little had they realized how unproductive or short the appointment would be.

Ron latched onto her shoulder and pulled her around. His eyes flashed with jealousy and anger. "You're home awfully early for a _society_ dinner."

"That's because they're still a bunch of purist prats with no minds of their own. I told Blaise where he could stick it. I'm not a society maven and I never will be." She moved to the kitchen and started making tea. She was so angry that her hands shook and it took her twice as long as usual to do the simple job.

He was silent for a long moment while she filled the tea pot and Hermione almost wondered if he had left until he spoke again. "You always make tea when you're upset."

"It gives me something to do with my hands. Your mother would probably endorse the idea." Everything seemed so wrong. "I probably won't be allowed to enter the kitchen at all when I marry Blaise. It'll be the private domain of the house-elves and I'll be stuck trying to pretend all is well." The pot filled and on the Aga, she grasped the edge of the counter with her hands and tried to center herself. She really wanted to fall apart, but knew now was not the time.

"So that's it, is it?" His voice was dejected.

"What's it?" Hermione said in exasperation before she could stop herself.

"You're just ready to throw in the towel and marry Zabini?" His frustration was clear.

All of the fight left her. They would both pay for her non-choice in their own ways. Ron had always felt like he wasn't wanted or needed, like he wasn't good enough. His experience with the locket in the Forest of Dean was proof of that. She didn't want him to feel less-than, but there was nothing she could do to change the situation, and he had to accept that. She sighed and turned to face him. "I've read the contract over several times, including all the fine print. I've checked law books and records. I haven't accomplished anything at work because I've been focused on this contract and I can't find a single loophole. There's no way out of it. I'm going to have to marry him or suffer a fate worse than death."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Worse than death? What, it'll make you blind so you can't read books anymore?"

She knew he was teasing, but that did actually sound like a fate worse than death to her. How could she ever live without books? Even Muggle audio books weren't the same thing as having the paper in her hands. "If we don't marry and consummate, neither of us will be able to be with anyone else that way—not that we'll have that luxury if we do consummate, either, but we'll both become unable to find any kind of sexual pleasure. Neither of us will be able to conceive except with each other."

"It doesn't sound worse than death to me." Ron said. "Bloody horrible, yeah, but not worse than death.

"I'm not finished." Hermione gritted her teeth and made herself discuss the other penalties for breaking the contract. "All birthrights we may have will be denied us regardless of which family line they come from—something Blaise will undoubtedly find unendurable—and our magic will slowly be leeched away until we become no better than squibs."

A stubborn look crossed his face. "Well, you're Muggle-born. You could live without your magic if you had to."

"You're a Weasley, you could live on a shoestring budget for the next hundred and thirty years if you had to," she snapped at him.

Ron flinched and she knew she had managed to make the right comparison—though she would much prefer penury to losing her magic. "My magic is more important to me than most anything. I have no training in the Muggle world. I'm not suited for any jobs there. I'm fully integrated into the magical world and the laws and mores of society. I don't think I could ever be happy if I lost my magic and had to live like my parents. I wouldn't be Hermione without it. Besides, the consequences aren't just to me and Blaise, they would affect Theo as well, and his mother. They would lose everything. I couldn't do that to them."

A tear slid down Ron's cheek. "You could be mine, though." His voice sounded desperate, but there was a touch of acceptance in it.

"Not really. Even if we don't marry, the enchantments will compel Blaise and I to be together, no matter how much I hate the idea." She held up a hand to stave off the response she could see he was about to make. "But even if that weren't true, if I'm not me, if I'm upset and depressed over what I've lost, am I going to be the woman you fell in love with? I'm not saying I want to marry Blaise—far from it. The mausoleum he and his mother live in is large enough we ought to be able to live together in peace, so long as the woman keeps her pure-blood trap shut." The idea of being stuck in that family made tears rise in her eyes again. After the way both Blaise and his mother had spoken, the last thing she wanted to do was marry into the family.

Silence hung between them for a long moment. "So I guess this is goodbye, then? You and me, there's nothing left for us?" He ran a hand down her cheek, his heartbreak evident.

Hermione felt her heart tearing in two as well. She hated to break up with him more than anything in the world. "Yeah. Ron, I hope someday we can be friends again. I know it's going to hurt too much right now. I want you to be happy."

"I love you, Hermione."

"I love you too, Ron." She fell into his arms and he pulled her close, pressing one last lingering kiss on her mouth.

"If he doesn't treat you good, let me know. Harry and I will straighten him right out," Ron said, his forehead tipped against hers.

She laughed despite herself. "You're crazy, but thank you. You'll always be special to me."

He dropped one more peck on her lips and pulled away. Neither of them had heard the front door open, or the intruder come down the hall, but he made himself known now. "That's very touching. Speaking of touching, Weasley, you're touching my fiancée, and if you don't stop it right now, I'll hex you into next year."

Hermione turned to her aggravated fiancé and released Ron, nudging him toward the door when he moved to respond to Blaise. "So nice to see you, Blaise. Too bad you weren't invited and I don't want you here. Goodbye, Ron, please tell Harry for me. It seems I'm going to have my hands full for the foreseeable future."

"You're sure you don't want my help? I could hex him for you." Ron's eyes were dark and eager to do just that. Hermione thought he must be having trouble holding himself back. She was actually impressed with his self control.

"As if you could get me before I had you trussed up like a turkey," Blaise said, sneering.

"He might surprise you, his reflexes have really improved. But in any case, it's me you have to worry about. I've always been faster at the draw." In demonstration, she turned her hand palm up and his wand came gliding into it without a word.

"How the—"

"There are advantages to being a know-it-all." She turned to Ron and gave him a look that insisted he leave. He seemed to decide to get out before she started hexing.

When the door shut behind Ron, Hermione twirled Blaise's wand in her fingers, considering, then decided he could have hexed first and spoken later, and didn't, so she tossed it back to him. "I have a fairly extensive repertoire of silent, wandless magic, so I don't suggest you try anything based on my wand not being in evidence." She flicked her fingers and her wand slid from her sleeve and into her hand. "It's close by anyway." With another movement, the wand slid back out of sight.

Blaise stood in surprise. "How did you do that? Hardly anyone I know can do wandless magic, and especially not silently."

"It takes practice and focus. I had plenty of time for both when we were on the run from Voldemort. Now, what are you doing here?" She placed her hands on her hips. "And how much of our conversation did you hear?"

He seemed to collect himself again, and straightened his dress robes. "I heard enough to know you were ending things once and for all. It wasn't pleasant to watch, and I certainly wanted to hex you both, but decided letting you get it out of your system would be better." His jaw firmed for a moment, as if he were holding back something more, then it relaxed and he took on a more genial attitude. "You came for dinner, but left before we could eat. I came to collect you. It was unforgiveable of me to allow you to leave without refreshment."

She lifted her brows. "Did you? After the row we had, why would you do that?"

He gave her a long look. "We hadn't finished the conversation. Since I'm hungry, I figured we could discuss it over dinner. Strangely enough, there's a meal all prepared at the Manor."

She studied him for a moment, noticing the way his eye twitched and that his hands wouldn't lie still at his side. An alternate possibility occurred to her. "Or maybe you figured I'd be easier to placate than your mum if she knew you chased me away." Patrizia might be patronizing and infuriating, but she obviously wanted the two of them to marry.

He nodded, granting her theory as truth without a hint of embarrassment that he was such a slave to his mother's whims.

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes and call him a baby for allowing his mother to dictate his entire life, but she knew what they needed right now was a truce, not more fighting—no matter how much she wanted to lay into him. "As I'm not willing to lose my magic just because you're a berk, and you would rather not ruffle your mum's feathers, perhaps we ought to declare a cease fire and find some middle ground?"

A muscle twitched in his dark cheek, but he nodded. "We'll need to sit down and negotiate conditions for our truce. We're stuck together for life, and as I don't favor celibacy for the next hundred-plus years, it would probably be to my benefit if we could get along."

_Typical male, putting sex first. _"Fine. Do you want to return for dinner then?"

He touched her upper arm, not grasping it or restraining her. "Yes, but I need you to promise not to see Weasley anymore. I don't like the idea of my wife spending time alone with an old flame under any circumstances. And after our…discussion last night, I can't believe I found you kissing him again tonight. Such action may not set off the enchantment between us, but I still consider it cheating."

"It was a goodbye kiss, the end of the romantic relationship. I agree with you about such relationships with others being wrong, regardless of whether we progress to a kiss or not. You have my word that it is completely over." The words broke her heart all over again, but it wasn't fair to any of them—least of all Ron—if she didn't stick to her resolve. "And I can't see him again, ever? The wizarding world is not such a large place that I might not run into him sometime." She was trying to understand his point of view, but she wanted him to be realistic too. Ron was one of her best friends. She did want to eventually regain that friendship.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "How about you don't seek out interaction with him without my presence? And if you run into him you do your utmost not to be alone or private with him."

"Agreed, and that goes the same for you."

He took her hand and tucked it into his elbow. "Don't worry, I have no intention of kissing Weasley."

"You know what I mean."

He dipped his head in agreement. "Yes, I know. From here on out, you're the only woman for me." He said it as though speaking the words hurt him.

With that, Hermione Apparated them back to Zabini Manor. She tried to center herself. After all, she still had an evening with the future bigot-in-law to get through.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"You're back? Did you have a nice tour of the grounds?" Patrizia asked when Blaise and Hermione returned.

Hermione smiled. "They are lovely." Then she sent a questioning look at her fiancé. His mother didn't even know they had left the property? Just how scared of his mum was he? Would the woman run rough-shod over them through their whole marriage? If so, Hermione was more than ready to move into one of the family's other residences. Blaise had mentioned that was a possibility, after all.

"We'll have to tour the inside of the house later. Now are you ready for dinner, Mother?" he asked.

At her acquiescence, they all made their way through the sumptuously decorated house to a formal dining room, which held a table with no less than a dozen chairs down each side.

"This is the family dining room. When we have more than a few guests, we use the formal room. It can sit up to two-hundred and fifty at a time for large parties, like your wedding," Patrizia explained as Blaise held her chair.

"That . . . makes sense," Hermione said for lack of anything better. She hoped the wedding would be the only time she would need to use the larger dining room. The occasional small dinner party (small being a matter of opinion, obviously, since two dozen people didn't feel very small to her at all), was one thing, but large parties were something else completely.

The soup course appeared in front of them and Patrizia began discussing her arrangements for musicians, the caterer, photographers, and the official to conduct the wedding.

"Actually, I would like to have the Minister of Magic conduct the wedding, if he's available," Hermione said.

Patrizia lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you worked closely with Minister Shacklebolt in your department." Her words were condescending.

"Kingsley and I have known each other for several years. Since I was in school, actually. We were both members of the Order of the Phoenix. I'll have to check his schedule, of course, but if he's available, would you mind too much if we had him do it?" It grated on Hermione to be asking permission to have a choice in something on her wedding day, but she thought it was the most politic way to handle things.

Indecision warred on Patrizia's face. "Well, I've already made arrangements." She looked a bit put out, but there was a calculating light in her eyes that led one to believe she was considering the benefits of having such an important man conduct the wedding, verses the possible offense her first choice might feel. Finally, "I suppose, if the minister is available, that would be acceptable."

"Thank you." Hermione tried to keep the irritation from her voice. The menus had been planned, the cake already picked out, and Patrizia had an appointment to select decorations the next day. If Hermione was going to have to go through with this, she wanted something of her own—and Kingsley would at least make this feel real to her.

"Now, about your honeymoon. You will, of course, stay the first week at the villa, the second week in that bungalow in Fiji—"

"Mum, you can leave that up to me. I doubt either of us can afford to take off so much time right now, but you needn't concern yourself about that. You have your hands full as it is." Blaise diffused the situation before Hermione could object.

"But dear, I've had this planned for years," Patrizia insisted.

"Just humor me this one time." Blaise patted his mum's hand. "You have so much to do. I know you can handle it, but I wouldn't want you to overexert yourself. You'll need your strength to deal with everything else."

His mum seemed appeased and nodded. "Very well, though I don't know how you'll arrange it with all of your business concerns." She took a dainty bite of her meal, then turned to Hermione. "I saw the perfect wedding dress the other day—"

"Thank you, if you let me know where it is, I'll be happy to look at it when I look at other dresses." Chances were she would buy something completely different. Would Patrizia's taste in clothing run to anything Hermione would like? Hermione studied her future mother-in-law. Her taste was impeccable, but the younger woman didn't want to be a carbon copy.

"Oh, but I insist on taking you clothing shopping. You'll need a whole new wardrobe, and I know the perfect little shops. You'll love it." She snapped her fingers and house elves popped in to clear the table, leaving behind the next course. "Now, as for the invitations, don't you worry, I'll put together the guest list and send everything out."

"I do have a few people I want to invite. I'll get you a list," Hermione interjected.

"Don't worry, I'll be sure all of the right people are there. Minister Shacklebolt will obviously be on the list, since you're asking him to officiate. Lucky you have a few contacts that will come in handy, socially. Anyone else important that I should know about?"

"I'll get you a list. I have friends and family I'd like to invite." Hermione could feel her blood pressure rising again.

"Well, I'll be sure to invite the Notts, they would have been on our list regardless of whom Blaise married. We'll send something out to Octavia, of course, but as she hasn't bothered to show her face, I doubt that she'll come. Some of her family might come—they're hardly uppercrust, but at least they're purebloods. And I suppose we'll need to invite Potter, since you've been friends for so long, but it's hardly a bad thing to have someone like him at the wedding."

"And my Muggle parents?" Hermione considered where they were holding the ceremony and knew she couldn't invite Jennifer and Josh. The thought caused a pang in her chest. She had always imagined them there, as part of her life in everything. There was no way they could break the statute of secrecy for the wedding, though.

"Muggles?" Patrizia said the word as if it offended her. "Why would you want to invite them?" Her delicate lips curled in revulsion at the thought.

Hermione shot a look at her fiancé, then turned to his mum and tried to keep her voice even. "They are my parents, regardless of where my blood came from. You will treat them with the respect they deserve as my parents."

"I most certainly will not! They're just Muggles, of no account at all."

"Then Blaise and I will wed in a private ceremony at the Ministry without you present." Hermione set down her silverware, pulled the napkin from her lap and rose.

"You wouldn't do something like that. Blaise wouldn't allow it! He's your groom, and has been raised with the right values. You will do as you are told." Patrizia's eyes flashed.

Hermione looked between her fiancé and his mother and made sure she had their undivided attention. "The only way I will submit to this glorified carnival of a wedding is if you accept that I have rights. I have my _own_ friends and family to invite. The nature of the ceremony will unfortunately only allow my parents to attend, and none of the extended relatives who would otherwise be at my wedding. I'm going to forego inviting some very important people from my life, but if you want to be there, you will invite my parents and treat them appropriately."

"Blaise will never agree to marry you in so shaming a manner!" Patrizia stood to face Hermione.

"Then Blaise will lose his magic, and his family businesses. I'm not asking all that much, and it is supposed to be _my_ wedding."

"Blaise!" His mother turned to her in supplication.

"It's not like I've many choices, Mum." His face was hard and angry. "I have to marry her, and if she insists on foregoing the kind of wedding we both deserve, she will still marry me, one way or the other. I'd rather do this right, however. She has us over a broomstick, give in graciously, and I'll discuss future blackmail with my darling fiancée."

Patrizia looked upset, but after a moment, she pursed her lips and nodded. "Fine. You may have half a dozen invitations for your friends and family."

"How many people do you envision attending this wedding?" Hermione asked, barely mollified, seeing as how her future mother-in-law was taking it all with such ill grace.

"No more than three hundred, probably more like two-fifty."

"Then I will invite as many people as I like. I assure you, it will be considerably less than fifty. I'll get you the list in a few days."

"Hermione, dear—"

"Shut it, Blaise." She turned her angry gaze on him. "I'll allow your mother to choose and dictate most everything else in this wedding—my wedding—but there are a few things for which I will not budge."

"I had no idea you were so bull-headed," Patrizia stated with a sniff.

"She is a Gryffindor," Blaise reminded her, as if that explained everything.

"Obviously."

The remainder of dinner was cool and stressful. Hermione couldn't wait to be released from the house. She couldn't imagine living there full time, and didn't want to even think about it.

* * *

Hermione was exhausted when she got to work the next day. Before going home the night before, Hermione had made a date to settle the full terms of a truce with Blaise, and took some time to unwind when she reached home. The very idea of dealing with Patrizia on a regular basis gave her a headache.

She had been up late and running full speed ahead to get to work on time, which meant breakfast became whatever she could grab on her way out the door, along with her morning _Daily Prophet_.

She had only settled in her chair a couple minutes and was perusing her stack of owl post as she munched a handful of Muggle cold cereal when Loretta came in.

"Oh, Hermione, who could have guessed? All this time we thought you were just a Muggle-born and really you're pure-blood. What an exciting story it must be—a tale of lovers kept apart by angry parents." The woman clasped her copy of the Daily Prophet to her chest and looked rapt at the ceiling as if imagining the story. She appeared ready to swoon.

In her current mood, Hermione figured she might not make an attempt to keep the woman from knocking her head on the chair on the way down. She sincerely hoped she and Zabini weren't supposed to be the lovers kept apart. She might puke. "What are you talking about?" Almost no one knew about her latest discovery, so she wanted to get the full scoop on what information Loretta had without giving anything extra away.

"The article in the _Prophet_. It said you're betrothed to Blaise Zabini, heir to several enormous fortunes, and that you're actually the daughter of the late Augustus Nott, sister of Theodore Nott."

Hermione grabbed her newspaper from the desk drawer, where she had stashed it when she arrived at work and turned to page three, as Loretta directed. There it was in black and white, and mostly accurate in the details. It told a little too much truth, actually, and Hermione was left wondering if Rita Skeeter had been hanging around her office when Theo popped by, or if she'd gotten the speculation about her birth mother's actions from another source.

The article would mortify Ron, as it told of their aborted relationship—full of nasty supposition about its end—and it would shock everyone else who knew her. Hermione prayed Ron had spoken to Harry and Ginny last night, otherwise she would be getting a visit from a very angry friend or two shortly.

"Thanks, Loretta, I hadn't looked this over yet. Rita managed to get almost half her details right. I can hardly believe she bothered to do research," she said dryly. Best to play it all down. "The basics are there, however. I am Theo's half sister, and because of an eighty-something-year-old contract, I'm going to have to marry Blaise Zabini." She tossed the paper to the corner of her desk and picked up the report she had been reading, turning her attention away from Loretta in a curt dismissal. "Now, I have gobs of work to do, if you don't mind?"

"Oh, I'm sure. You must be so overwhelmed trying to put together a society wedding in the few weeks you have left before it has to take place. I'm surprised you haven't already given your notice here." Loretta turned and scurried from the room, undoubtedly so she could be the first to spread the news.

Why did people think she intended to quit her job? Hermione picked up and reread the article and was about to slide her newspaper into her desk drawer when Harry stormed in, a copy of the _Prophet_ in hand. "What's with this rubbish? I've been out of town for a few days on assignment and come back to this?" He held out the article to her and Hermione gestured him toward a chair. With a wave of her hand, she closed her office door and locked it, then warded it against sound leaving the room before pulling a vial of pain potion from a drawer.

This could be a really horrible day.

* * *

Harry was still in Hermione's office an hour later, trying to convince her marrying Blaise was a stupendously bad idea when the aforementioned fiancé arrived. There was a knock on the closed door and Hermione modified the silencing charm and called out, "Who is it?"

Harry glared at her for bothering to respond to the knock when he wasn't through grilling her about the details of the contract.

"It's your cursed betrothed." Blaise's voice came through the door, not sounding pleased.

Harry perked up at that. "Let him in, I'd like to have a few choice words with him."

"Give it a rest, Harry. It's not like Blaise has any more choice in this than I do." Hermione waved her hand, allowing the door to open. She crossed her hands on the desk before her and smiled sweetly up at the dark-eyed man who entered. "Good morning, love. I suppose the sour expression on your face is the results of our great felicity hitting the papers this morning?"

"Very funny, Granger. You didn't mention your words with that Skeeter nuisance last night."

"For future reference, if the article was written by Rita Skeeter, you can safely assume I am not the source of her information. I should have smashed that bug while I had the chance." These last word she spoke under her breath.

Harry stood and faced Blaise He looked every bit the hardened Auror. "Zabini."

"Potter."

"Enjoying your new status?"

"Not particularly. I'd rather not have my face all over the papers with the truth that my fiancé would prefer to be married to someone else—a Weasley, at that. It can be a little hard on the ego. You?"

"What do you think?" Harry moved a little closer to the dark man.

"That's enough. Would you two both quit posing? This isn't about your manly arguments. Harry, I'm sorry Ron didn't talk to you before this came out in the paper. Please try to understand we have _no choice_. There is literally no way out of the contract without us both losing our magic and more—something I'm not willing to risk. We'll have to make the best of it. Please talk to the Weasleys for me. You know how I love them."

Looking chastened, Harry nodded. He leaned over the desk and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then turned and glared at Blaise as he left the office.

Blaise waited until Harry disappeared before turning back to Hermione, his eyes hard. "Got something going with Potter on the side?"

"Gross. Harry's like a brother to me. That would feel more incestuous than Theo—and no, I'm not the least attracted to Theo either." She crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you doing here?"

He tucked one hand in his jacket pocket and removed a couple of velvet jewelry boxes. "Decided since the word's out, you ought to have a ring. I was going to give this to you at diner tomorrow night, but I didn't want people eyeing my fiancée's finger and wondering why I didn't provide an appropriate bauble." He opened the two boxes, then set them on her desk. "If neither of these interests you, we can go shopping for a different one. Both of them belonged to my great-great-grandmother. This one," He pointed to a platinum setting with a three-karat diamond, which was surrounded by emeralds weighing somewhere between a quarter and a third karat each, "was her engagement ring. The other replaced the first ring a few years later when my grandfather made his second million." The second ring was set in gold and had a diamond the size of a robin's egg. It was further encrusted with emeralds around the band that were even larger than those on the first ring.

"Your delivery is so romantic, I may swoon," Hermione said dryly, returning her attention to the first ring. It was huge, and a bit gaudy, but she doubted Blaise would let her get away with anything less impressive if they looked elsewhere, and the setting was quite pretty.

"Sorry to destroy all your romantic dreams. What do you think of them?" His voice was equally devoid of emotion.

"The second one probably weighs more than my cat. I don't think I can carry around that kind of weight in daily life." She plucked the smaller ring from its case, sliding it on. Blaise tapped it with his wand and it sized itself to her finger.

He picked up the second box, closed it and slid it back in his pocket. "I'd love to linger, but this stop has put a cramp in my day's schedule. I'll see you at dinner tomorrow night?"

She sighed, not looking forward to their little chat about ground rules. He had been anything but happy when he dropped her back at her flat the previous night. "Yes, thanks. The ring is lovely."

He nodded, then paused a moment while they looked at each other, neither of them sure what to do next. "Have a good day."

"Thanks. You too."

Blaise turned on his heel and walked out of the office. Hermione put her head in her hands for a long moment, then took a deep breath and returned to her work. It was just one more odd encounter in her increasingly odd life.

* * *

That day was another of near unproductivity since everyone in the building had to come by to gawk and pry. Oh, they all claimed to have a real reason to be there, but that didn't change the fact that most of the reasons were fabricated and could have been solved with a memo. And while they just _happened_ to be there anyway, they may as well grill her about the engagement. She was glad Blaise had thought to bring her a ring, since every female in the building apparently wanted to see it.

She was also forced to spout off nonsense such as, "No, we didn't know each other well in school, but we're looking forward to getting to know each other better" and "We were, of course, surprised by this turn of events, but Ron and I were never really that serious," and "_The Prophet's_ report was so skewed. They only got a few of the facts straight" and "I will always love Ron as one of my best friends, but I know my life with Blaise will be wonderful."

The last one made her want to gag. They really needed to discuss an official stance. There was no way she was going to say anything that might really hurt Ron, but neither did she want to embarrass herself. It was unfortunate that they hadn't known months ago, so this could have all been transitioned without the great fanfare.

Before she left work, she Floo-called the Burrow, and found Molly working on dinner. "Molly, I was wondering if you managed to speak with your cousins about Octavia."

"I did. Perhaps we can meet for lunch tomorrow to discuss it?" The woman was reserved, but not cold to her—for which Hermione was grateful. She would hate to have the older witch blaming her.

"That would be lovely. Meet you at my flat at noon, then?"

That arrangement made, Hermione stood and gathered her things together. She needed to visit her parents again. She had already made dinner arrangements with them, so this was it.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Though word had gotten out all over the wizarding world, Hermione didn't think her parents received _The Daily Prophet_, so they probably hadn't heard about her engagement. She wanted to be certain they wouldn't hear from anyone else first. Patrizia's September twenty-ninth wedding date meant Hermione had only three and a half weeks until the wedding, and her own parents didn't know she had split with Ron and was marrying someone else. How would she ever explain?

"Are you a Gryffindor or what?" Hermione asked herself as she ascended the front porch at her parents' house that evening. She knew no good would come of putting off the inevitable. Still, she slipped off the gaudy ring Blaise had given her and put it into her pocket. She didn't want them seeing it before she had a chance to tell them what was going on.

She really wanted to be a Hufflepuff about now—loyal, but not necessarily brave.

Dinner went smoothly enough until they got to dessert and Hermione's mum mentioned she should bring Ron next time. "We don't see that much of him. We haven't seen Molly or Arthur in ages."

Hermione finished the bite of food in her mouth slowly, very sorry when it was time to swallow. "Well, there's been a slight change in my situation. Ron and I split up and I'm marrying someone else."

There was a moment's stunned silence.

"Who else have you been seeing?" her father asked.

"You've been dating another bloke on the side? How could you do something like this to that nice boy? You've been friends with him for years."

"Well, hmmm. I'm marrying a man named Blaise Zabini. He's from my year in school and he's very charming." _When he wants to be. The rest of the time isn't up for discussion right now._ "He's an only child, like me, and his mum's very beautiful. Her name's Patrizia. It sounds very Italian but they aren't. She's got the wedding more than half planned already, because she's very organized." _Overbearing, bigoted, irritating—­_

"But, honey, if she's already got so much planned, how long have you been seeing this Blaise?" her mum asked. Her concern was clearly pasted across her face. "And why did it take you so long to tell us about the wedding?"

"Well, we've known each other since we started Hogwarts. Like I said, he was in my year at school and we were in a lot of classes together. He has interests in several businesses, at least one works with magical creatures." She allowed them to draw their own conclusions. She considered lying to them and telling her parents that she ran into him and fell madly in love with him, but that lie wouldn't last long before they realized it wasn't true. Eventually they would speak with Molly or Arthur and learn the facts—or at least enough to realize if she told bold-faced lies.

"How long have you been involved with him?" Clearly her father expected a straight answer.

Hermione allowed her eyes to close for a moment. They would find out some day. It might as well be now. "A few days ago, I received a letter." She gave them the full rundown of events, along with her guesses about how she came to be living with them. She did all she could to soften the blow, but she could see the hurt plainly on their faces.

No one ate another bite after she began her tale. When she finished, and had answered their questions, she stood and began to clean up the dinner dishes and leftovers. She knew they would need time to digest what she had told them. She wasn't their biological daughter, and they probably did bear a son, but she had no idea what happened to him.

When she returned to the table to clear away the extra dessert, her mother put a hand on her arm. "So you're not really my child?"

Her heart felt constricted as she wondered what her mother was getting at. Would she not want to see Hermione anymore? Would she be glad to be rid of her? Hermione took the seat beside her mum again and turned to face her. "Biologically I am not your child. But I don't consider either of my magical parents to be anything more than the people who donated my DNA. You two are my parents and always will be."

She saw relief flood her mum's face and knew she had said the right thing.

"I thought for a moment that you wouldn't want us anymore. I know there isn't much room for Muggles in the wizarding world."

"I know we've been hard on you," her father added. "But we love you. We just feel left out of your life in so many ways, and there's really no way for us to become part of the most important bits of your life."

"You _are_ the most important part of my life. I'm heart broken over losing Ron, and I'm not really thrilled with the Zabinis, but I couldn't lose you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you yesterday. After the situation in Australia, I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me anymore if you knew what really happened. Or at least what we think happened. I was going to tell you at lunch yesterday, but I was still trying to process it, to piece things together." Hermione allowed the tears to fall—again. She was getting to be such a watering pot.

"Oh, honey. I'm sorry we made things so hard for you. Intellectually, I know you did the best thing you could to protect us, but I hate having to allow my child to protect us, instead of being able to protect her," her father said. "Maybe it's just my pride."

Nearly an hour passed as they talked and cried and laughed, more openly than they had since the summer before she turned eighteen. She pulled out her ring and let them admire it, then told them about the robin's egg, and watched her mum pull a face—she totally agreed.

Then the doorbell rang and Hermione opened it to Jennifer and Josh, bringing over a plate of fresh muffins—Jennifer loved to bake and was forever bringing over little treats to share with them. Josh had been away at Uni and Hermione hadn't seen much of him lately. She rushed into his arms, holding him tight. "Josh, it's so good to see you."

"Hey, why the tears?" Jennifer asked, rubbing her thumb along Hermione's wet cheekbone.

"Happy/sad tears. Life's full of them, isn't it?" Hermione held back another sob at the words. She was afraid life would have more sad ones in the immediate future.

"Happy ones are okay. Let's try and keep the sad ones to a minimum, why don't we?" Her eyes slid to Hermione's left hand when Hermione lifted it to finish wiping her face. "Wow, what a rock. Let me take a look at that."

Hermione held out her hand obligingly and allowed Jennifer and Josh to inspect it.

"That looks like an heirloom. How many years do you think it's been around?" Josh asked. He and his girlfriend had been together a long time and his question made Hermione wonder if he'd been thinking about buying a ring himself. It surprised her—in the wizarding world people tended to marry young most of the time. Still being single at twenty-five nearly made one a spinster, but in the Muggle world Josh's twenty-two years were really young for marriage.

"Four generations, from what we could tell. Blaise's great-great-grandfather gave it to his wife when they were first engaged." Hermione didn't mention Blaise's father had given it to his mother when they wed, since by then the older couple had found something larger and even gaudier. Now did she bring up the fact that said great-great-grandparents could have still been living, if they hadn't been in the wrong place, at the wrong time during Grindelwald's reign of terror.

"Blaise? What happened to Ron?" Josh's forehead crinkled in surprise.

"It's a long, complicated story." _One I could never share with you because you'd really not understand. _"Things with Blaise just kind of happened, almost like destiny. We can't stand the idea of waiting for the wedding," _Because we don't want to lose our magic,_ "so we'll be married September twenty-ninth. I'm afraid it'll be a small ceremony and with only close relatives. Due to the location, there won't be much room for friends, otherwise I would love to have you there."

It was a lie of course, it was going to be an extravaganza, from what Hermione could tell, but she couldn't go inviting random Muggles. Her parents would undoubtedly be uncomfortable enough there as the only Muggles in the lot. In fact, Hermione wondered if they wouldn't be happier missing the wedding completely—she wanted them there, but was doubtful about the kind of treatment they would get from the purebloods in attendance—especially if her in-laws ended up being typical of the breed.

"Holly cow, Hermione. Three weeks? Are you pregnant or something?" Josh goggled at her.

"No, I'm not pregnant, we're just, it's just. Well . . . we didn't want to wait any longer. That's all." She knew her answer sounded lame, but she couldn't help it.

"Well, I'm sure you have good reason, and I hope your wedding is magical." Jennifer pulled Hermione into a hug, then released her and turned toward the elder Grangers, bringing them into the conversation.

"If you're sure." But Josh didn't look the least convinced.

* * *

The next day at lunch, Hermione was able to sit down and get a feel for what Molly Weasley thought about it all. "I appreciate you speaking with me," Hermione said after they had exchanged greetings at her door.

"I'm sure this is a difficult time for you." Molly's words were clipped, making it clear she was _trying_ to be understanding, but needed more time to get there.

"Come in, I have some soup in a crock pot." That morning Hermione had started one of those soups that come as a powder and you just add water and simmer. She had added a few extra veggies and seasonings to dress it up, and it would be good enough, even if it would never be as good as anything Molly cooked.

"What's a crock pot?" Molly asked as they went into the kitchen.

Hermione explained how they worked and Molly seemed impressed. They sat down to eat it with some fresh crusty bread Hermione had bought at a bakery on the way home. "So, you said you had a chance to speak with your cousin?"

Molly began telling all she knew about the situation, but unfortunately, it wasn't very much. "Octavia's sister, Cassiopeia, said she had suspected Octavia might be pregnant about the time she disappeared. Unfortunately, she was unable to get any straight answers from Octavia about the father, or even to find out if it was true. The only reason she could think of why Octavia wouldn't have told her the truth was if the man was trouble. The two of them had always been close, and apparently Octavia had been acting oddly for several months, secretive, looking over her shoulder, disappearing for an evening or overnight, but refusing to say where she'd been. When she disappeared, and didn't return, the family decided the man must have been involved with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They always wondered if she had been killed."

"According to the solicitor, she spoke to him personally on Monday, so she's still around. Somewhere." Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about this new information. It wasn't much, to be sure, but it was interesting. "I don't know why she still feels like she needs to hide. I'm going to try sending her a letter through the solicitor, see if I can track her down, get some answers. If she's been so determined to stay hidden for so long, though, I don't know if it will do any good."

Molly finished her soup and tapped the edge of the bowl with her bread. "After the news article came out yesterday, I received another letter from Cassiopeia. She wants to meet you. I admit, you didn't mention the contract when you asked about Octavia. I wondered why. Did Ron even know?"

Hermione ran a finger tip over the outline of her spoon handle. "Yes, Ron knew. I told him everything before we spoke with you. I want you to know that Blaise and I are going to act as though the contract doesn't upset us, even though it does. I'm going to do everything possible to spare Ron's reputation—not that the Skeeter woman has given me much in the way of options—but I may have to say a few things that you know aren't strictly true. For example, when I told people at work that Ron and I weren't serious, that we dated casually." She met Molly's eyes. "It's the easiest way for all of us—publicity wise—if we pretend like my relationship with Ron wasn't bordering on marriage. But I do love him, and I'm not happy about this situation. I'm going to miss the chance to belong to your family. I love all of you so much."

Tears shone in Molly's eyes and she blinked them away. "And how do you really feel about the Zabinis?"

Hermione felt no need for strict honesty there. "Blaise and I didn't know each other before, not really. We hung with . . . very different crowds. I'm hopeful that we'll come to love each other eventually, and his mother seems very attentive." She actually had no hope that she would love Blaise, and attentive wasn't quite the adjective she would use for Patrizia under different circumstances, but it was reasonably accurate, as far as it went.

Molly reached over and put a hand over Hermione's. "I'm sure this is very difficult for you, dear. You know we support you a hundred percent."

"I appreciate it, Molly."

* * *

"What do you mean they're sterile?" Blaise asked Theo as they walked through the stable where the moon calves were normally raised.

"Just what I said. I've hardly been able to get a single conception in the past six months. Feed prices are skyrocketing, yet breeding has been unsuccessful. I've even artificially inseminated, with limited results. A test has shown both males and females are not producing viable eggs or sperm. I can't figure it out."

A good portion of the family business for Blaise had to do with transporting feed from various suppliers for the wizarding public and then processing the resulting animals for potions ingredients or to feed to other magical animals, or for human consumption. Actually, there were dozens of different enterprises run by the Zabini name, but this was one of the most profitable. Or at least it had been, until recently. "Figure it out. See if you can isolate a couple of possible reasons for the problem and we'll go from there." As if he didn't have enough problems dealing with his lovely fiancée without bringing in extra business headaches.

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

That night found Hermione sitting at a coolly polite dinner with her fiancé at an exclusive wizarding restaurant. Hermione wore her nicest set of dress robes and had taken extra care with her hair, but she still felt underdressed compared to the majority of those surrounding her.

As she scooped up her second bite of the sinfully rich chocolate mousse she had ordered, Blaise broke through the forced politeness, his eyes studying her. "Are those the nicest robes you own?"

"Yes, it's not like I'm made of money, nor do I often have reason to dress up." Her response was more than a little defensive.

"Easy, Granger. It was just a question. Mum wants to take you shopping, of course. You'll need to make arrangements to do so quickly, since she's going all out planning an engagement party for us. Would next Saturday work?"

She shook her head. "No, it's Harry and Ginny's wedding, and I'm a bridesmaid."

"Tomorrow it is. The following Saturday is the engagement party, and Mum already has Sunday brunches set up with friends. She'll probably want to take you along to those, actually. I'll tell her to pick you up at eight."

That was not what she wanted to hear. "On a Saturday? It's my only day to sleep in."

He smirked at her. "Sorry, she likes to start early and go all day long. Eat a good breakfast and expect to be exhausted by the end of the day."

Needing a moment to center herself, Hermione closed her eyes so she could focus on the chocolate goodness on her tongue. When the bite melted away, she opened her eyes and looked at him again. "We have three weeks until the wedding and she's taking the time to put together an engagement party?" It seemed ridiculous considering everything.

"It's expected that I have one, so we will."

She ground her teeth and forced her expression to impassivity. She hoped. "When is this party, and what should I expect?"

"It will be the biggest social event of the year, save for our wedding." He leaned back in his chair, setting his napkin back by the edge of his plate. His eyes seemed to study her. "You'll wear the latest dress, smile like the pure-blood you are, show all the social graces and cling to my arm as if I hung the moon."

She couldn't help but snort when she heard that last bit. "Only if you look at me the same way, Zabini. I refuse to act like some love-sick sycophant just to stroke your ego. Besides, the whole world knows now that this wasn't a love match."

He grinned at her. "You can't blame a guy for trying."

"Sure I can." She savored another bite of her dessert, then focused on him, knowing she needed to approach the subject at hand. "So we were going to put together a beginning list of our expectations of this relationship. Obviously we've established that neither of us is going to pretend like the other is our dream mate."

"No, but I would like it if we at least appeared to like each other a bit. Hating our lot isn't going to keep the furor in the newspapers down."

"And it would be nice not to make the front page on a regular basis. I prefer my private life to stay that way," she acknowledged.

"All right, then. Anything else?" Blaise played with the torte he had ordered.

Hermione had been thinking about that for some time, trying to decide what rules would have the most impact on their relationship without coming across completely demanding. Besides, she didn't want to start problems before they even married. She took a deep breath, stealing herself, since she knew he wouldn't be happy about it. "Just two for now. I understand you have a thing about bloodlines and Muggles, but you have to understand that no matter what the Ministry paperwork says, my Muggle parents are still my parents. They raised me. I love them and nothing is ever going to change that. I doubt they will be comfortable spending much time with us; they're still trying to accept the change of perspective. However, I want them to feel welcome in our home on the occasions that we do spend time with them, and I want to be welcome in theirs. That means you will not put them down to their faces or to me at any time. I don't want to hear you constantly degrading my family and friends simply because you've some ridiculous superiority complex."

"But I am superior." When Hermione glared at him, he pushed his barely-touched dessert away. "You're asking me to change my whole belief system to fit yours."

"No, I'm not. I'm simply asking you to treat my family and friends like _people_ instead of slugs. That means if you have enough and can't stand to be around them anymore, you will find an excuse to be elsewhere—a polite excuse that will not make them feel awkward. And I will do the same in reverse. If you have friends over for some reason, I will put on a good face, but I don't have to like them, either."

He considered her words for a moment, then nodded. "Granted. Anything else?"

"Just one thing—for now. We may need to revisit the list over time." She gave him a stern look, but he kept a bland look on his face. "This isn't any easier for Ron than it is for us. Please be sensitive to that fact—if you're _capable_—and try not to make things any more difficult for him than necessary. I've been telling people that the two of us dated, but weren't serious, but that's not true."

This time he rolled his eyes and snorted. "So you want me to pander to his feelings."

"I want you to show a tiny bit of decency. Ron and I are over as anything but friends, and even that will be hard to manage for quite a while. Consider it a favor to me not to make this harder than it has to be. If you make it rough on him, it'll be harder for me, too. Making this harder for me will also make it harder for _you_."

His eyes drilled into her with anger, and his lips pressed together tightly for a long moment. "Now for my list—"

"I thought you already gave me your list," Hermione interrupted.

"You vetoed some of my requirements, so I need to make additions. I am a business man. I have business dinners, meetings, and social gatherings. I expect you to accompany me whenever possible and at least project a professional, gregarious attitude. You needn't fawn over me, though I won't complain should you decide to do so in a tasteful manner, but I do ask that you show a degree of fondness. If I can put up with your Muggle relations," he made a face at the words, "you can feign friendliness with me from time to time."

Deciding that was far more realistic, she nodded. "So long as you reciprocate. I told my parents about the contract, I was afraid they would hear about it from the Weasleys or someone else if I didn't, but I didn't elaborate about our actual relationship."

He snorted. "You mean you didn't declare to them that we loathe each other as you did to the solicitor."

She nodded again. "Essentially."

"Fair enough."

When Hermione scooped another bite of her mousse, Blaise reached over and grabbed her wrist, turning it so the bite reached his mouth instead. She felt that now-familiar zing of electricity when he touched her. Her heart rate spiked at the contact.

"What are you doing?" she asked when he grinned around his mouthful of mousse.

He seemed to savor the taste for a moment, then swallowed. "You've been enjoying that chocolate so much I had to try it, to see what's so special about it. It's quite sensual."

"The mousse is sensual?" She lifted an eyebrow to hide the butterflies in her stomach.

"Both it, and the way you eat it." His dark eyes seemed to study her face. "I never thought there was a hint of sensualist in you, but I believe I was wrong." He seemed curious, as though intrigued by the revelation.

"We all have things we appreciate. Some guys revel in a good Quidditch match, though I don't entirely understand that. I appreciate rich, sweet chocolate." Anxious to end the attraction that always spiked between them when they touched, she tugged at her hand, and after a moment, he released it.

He smiled at her, and after she scraped the last of her dessert from the bowl, he stood and offered her his hand. "I have the feeling we've many new things to learn about each other. It may take us years."

Off balance and really not sure what to think of this new side of Blaise—was this all an act? Did she trust it? He'd never been so much as neutral to her before—she accompanied him outside.

On her doorstep—he insisted on seeing her home—he moved in, brushed some hair back from her face, making her shiver at the contact of skin on skin. "You have great bones and a good figure, you know. It shouldn't take too much work to get your appearance up to snuff. You'll be someone I can be proud to marry, with a little training."

He leaned forward to kiss her, and though the bond between them tugged on her, prodded and poked and urged her to meet the kiss, she pulled back. For him to say something so offensive just before giving a good night kiss—as if she should be flattered by his words—was unbelievable. The nerve was more than she could stand. "You have a lot to learn, Zabini." She opened her door, walked through, and shut it in his face.

She reviewed the evening. Excluding that last idiotic remark, it hadn't been bad, had even been fairly pleasant, but she realized he hadn't shared much of anything about himself. "Indeed. It may take a few years for us to get to know each other well," she muttered as she put her dress back in the closet. "That is, if I care to make the effort."

Right now she didn't think she would get to sleep easily, but in the morning she would have to deal with Patrizia and shopping. Hermione pulled a face and slid into bed with a good book. If she didn't drift off soon, she could always take something to help. It could be worse.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Blaise met Draco again for lunch, grateful it was his betrothed having to deal with shopping with his mother, and not himself. He had long since made every possible effort to avoid shopping with his mum.

"So how goes the engagement? You didn't mention it when we spoke earlier this week," Draco said as he settled back into his seat with his butterbeer.

Blaise sipped from his own drink wishing, it were something stronger, but knowing he had too much work still to do that afternoon to indulge. "She's infuriating. She's so prickly, always looking for a fight. It's like nothing I do makes her happy." He grimaced as he remembered his shock at her dismissal and disappearance into her flat the previous evening. "Last night we had dinner, I made unbelievable concessions to her, pandered to her, flattered her about how nice she'd grown up to look, and she slammed the door in my face."

Draco choked on his drink from laughing. "We are talking about Granger here," he said when he could finally breathe again. "She's not your average date, Blaise. You have to come at things from a different angle, and with your history together, you'll probably have to work harder than most anyone else. Come on, you can charm anyone, have you really been trying?"

"What do you mean, have I really been trying? It's been a nightmare, but I'm doing what I can to make this work. I just expect her to act like the woman I need her to be. It's not that much to ask. Consider what she's getting in the deal, after all. I'm a great catch, plus there's the money, status, entre into the top rung of society, the ability to quit working and spend her time however she likes."

One long, incredulous look, and Draco burst into laughter again. "Mate. What exactly did you say to her just before she slammed the door in your face? You didn't actually suggest the bushy-haired, competitive know-it-all quit her job? You must have royally screwed up."

Blaise told him and when Draco laughed even harder, Blaise ran the words through his head again, but saw nothing wrong. It was more than the swot deserved. "What?"

"If you had said those words to, say, DeeDee, what do you suppose she would have done?"

Suddenly Blaise realized what Draco meant. He groaned and covered his face with a hand. "I knew better than to woo a woman so clumsily when I was fourteen!"

"Exactly. I'm not saying you have to be thrilled about her Muggle family or her friends or anything—I certainly wouldn't be if I were in your place—but I've seen you charm your way through most everything." He seemed to consider for a moment, the added, more seriously, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but then I never thought I would be in this position. Granger's always been desperate for praise and acceptance. If you treat her like the kind of woman you want her to be, I'd just bet she gets there all the faster, and with much less aggravation on your part."

"Kill her with kindness?" The idea didn't appeal all that much, but when he considered what he knew of Hermione, he realized it was probably the best way. He had been messing it up beautifully, hadn't he?

"Just take care not to kill yourself in the process." Draco pounded Blaise on the back and smiled brightly at the buxom waitress as she brought over their order.

* * *

It really couldn't be worse, Hermione decided the next afternoon as she tried on the hundredth dress. Granted, her future mother-in-law had surprisingly great taste in colors and textures—Hermione had never expected to own one set of silk dress robes, never mind half a dozen—but the woman was indefatigable.

By the time they reached the lingerie shop at the end of Patrizia's list, Hermione was ready to drop. She couldn't count the number of outfits they had purchased for her that day, didn't want to think about the amount of money that had been spent. Since the Zabinis seemed determined to dress her up like a doll, Hermione wouldn't allow herself to feel guilty about letting them pick up the tab. She certainly couldn't have afforded even a tenth of what Patrizia had purchased for her.

Besides, it wasn't as though she would have bought a fraction of the outfits if given her own choice. She could only be glad she had enough clothes that she shouldn't need to shop again for several year—surely they would last at least that long.

"Now, to complete your fall wardrobe, we should get you some new underthings." Patrizia glanced over and shook her head at Hermione's dismay. "No, my dear, I've see the plain Muggle things you're wearing. There will be no more of that. You'll be a Zabini soon enough and you need to be dressed like one, all the way to the skin." The woman flipped through a rack of slinky nightgowns, handing them over to a shop assistant as she pulled them out, then switched to bra and panty sets.

Before Hermione knew what was happening, she was herded to the changing room to try different items against her skin. It wasn't until the slinky teddies and sheer, sexy nightgowns began coming through that she started to think about that aspect of her marriage. She and Blaise would have to consummate before he turned twenty-one. The wedding was only two days before his birthday, so they wouldn't have time to settle in much. Then there was the prospect of having children together down the road. He was a fine looking man, with a great build and plenty of muscle, but she still wasn't attracted—aside from the whole magically induced thing. She remembered again the feel of his skin on hers, his every touch seemed to electrify her—but she still didn't _like_ him.

The enchantments on the contract would almost certainly take care of that little problem for them. Hermione pulled a face at that thought. Those kinds of spells ought to be unforgiveable along with the Imperius curse. After all, it took away her choices every bit as much.

She wanted to curse her ancestors again and again as she flipped through the clothes Patrizia sent in to her.

* * *

When she reached her flat—finally—Hermione found boxes and bags of clothing already stacked up in her living room from where the shops had Flooed them through. "Holy cow, how on earth am I going to store all these things?" She wouldn't hesitate to shrink her normal clothing to store it in a smaller space, but many of the dresses and robes they had purchased that day wouldn't respond as well to that kind of treatment.

She walked to her library and sorted through her Charms books until she pulled out the one she remembered seeing an enlarging spell in. Enlarging Charms could be tricky. They were a combination of charm and transfiguration, and different ones fit different situations. She didn't want to make a permanent change to the flat, since she would never be able to explain it to her Muggle landlord when she moved out in a few weeks.

She performed the necessary spell, then began putting things away. She was less than halfway through when Blaise came through the front door of her flat without knocking.

She held back a growl. "This is my place, Blaise. I'd appreciate it if you'd give me the respect I deserve and knock before coming in." Her arms were full of dresses, the floor littered with more bags.

"Mum seemed pleased with the afternoon's shopping." He ignored her request and nudged a bag with his foot. "Looks like she put a serious dent in her monthly allowance. She's looking forward to shopping with you for your winter wardrobe."

Horrified that the woman thought she could possibly need another scrap of clothing, Hermione nearly dropped the load in her arms. "You've got to be kidding me. I thought this would last two years, at least. Probably longer."

He grinned at her. "Mum is rather a clothes horse. You'll get used to her ways."

She turned her back on him and headed for the bedroom, her head spinning.

"Besides, you hadn't anything appropriate before. Now you've a good basic wardrobe, plus the autumn clothing." A short moment passed while she put things away, careful to hang them properly. Then she heard his voice at her bedroom door.

"This is really quite interesting. I never would have pictured you in anything like it, but now I'm rather anxious to see you wear it."

Hermione turned and caught him holding up a barely-there filmy red spider-silk negligee that wouldn't begin to adequately cover the main assets.

She walked over and pulled it from his hands. "Hope you got a good look. I don't expect you'll be seeing it modeled anytime in the future. She just wouldn't take no for an answer." She crammed the item in a dresser drawer and turned to see him with a lace camisole in antique white. "Would you quit going through my under things."

He grinned at her and dropped the camisole negligently in the bag he had brought to her door. "If you like. I'm sure I'll get to see them all later. You have to admit, Mum has excellent taste. She's been picking out my girlfriend's gifts for the last several years now. I've always gotten rave reviews." His look was lecherous as he stalked across the room toward her.

"Please, spare me the details. I don't care to know how many women you've been with. As long as you aren't going to give me any diseases, you're welcome to your past." She turned her back on him as he drew close. After all, she still had a couple items to hang properly.

As she slid the last set of robes fit for everyday work into the closet, his hand slid over hers. "You know, I was thinking today. We've been engaged our whole lives, yet I still haven't kissed you, Hermione."

She froze for a moment, then turned, moving closer to the closet as she did so, trying to slide from his embrace. "That's hardly a surprise seeing as how you used to torment me in school. Strangely enough, I don't go for that kind of thing."

"I'm not going to torment you now." He stepped even closer, blocking her exit so all she could do was look up into his dark face. "or if I do, I promise you'll enjoy it."

Her heart raced and her hands shook with anticipation but she fought the reaction. "I'd really rather you moved back now."

"Your face is flushed." He made no move to follow her request, as though he never heard it. He ran his fingertips across her bottom lip, blazing a trail of fire in their wake. "Your eyes are an impossible hazel color that seems to shine in the darkness, and your lips are incredibly inviting. When I think of you in those slinky garments, I begin to think this marriage has many, many merits."

His head lowered, bending to touch his mouth to hers. A shock of pleasure poured through her as their lips met and the hands she had lifted to push him away instead latched onto his shoulders, drawing him closer as she tipped her head to deepen the kiss. This incredible passion had to have come from the enchantments on the contract—there was no way it was organic, simple chemistry between them, but at the moment, Hermione didn't care. When one of his hands slid down her back and squeezed her derriere, she realized what she was doing. She placed both her hands on his chest and pushed him away so hard his legs hit the bed in the tiny room and he sat on it in surprise.

She breathed hard from the amazing kiss, but fought to speak through it. "A few more rules to add to your list. This is my place, not yours. That means you will knock and gain my permission before you enter the flat. Second, keep your hands off my underwear and my personal belongings. Third," she moved to tower over him, "I'm not going to be your toy or plaything. Don't mistake me for one of your vapid, brainless whores."

"Ouch, that's a pretty harsh thing to say. I don't think DeeDee would appreciate being called a whore. She was a good shag, though, with legs up to her ears." His face took on a look of fond remembrance. He lay back on her bed and spread out a little.

Her stomach churned with disgust, even as her pulse still pounded from their kiss. She could not reconcile the compulsion with her personal feelings for him, especially when he was acting like such a berk. "Please spare me. And get out."

He made no move to follow her order, just studied her for a long moment, then said, "I'm not quite as experienced as my reputation implies, you know."

"What?" The change in topic, and the shift from flirty to serious in his tone caught her off guard.

"My reputation. I've dated a lot, but I don't sleep with every bimbo I come across. And I don't just mean in the past year since the contract made that part of my life rather impossible. I've generally tried to be more selective in that department, though I'll have you know I have plenty of experience to ensure we will have a good time together. I can be rather inventive, actually." His tone shifted back to flirty and a smile hovered on his mouth.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Spare me the boasting, would you?"

He laughed low in his chest, a rumble that sent chills down her. "I think we need some quality time, Hermione. Get to know each other better." He slid up the bed more, then pulled her pillow from the head of the bed and lay back on it. "Tell me, did you, Potter, and Weasley really get past a three-headed dog in second year?"

Hermione pulled the pillow away so his head fell back on the mattress. "It was first year, not second." She fluffed the pillow and replaced it at the top of the bed. "Surely, you didn't come here simply so I could give you a rundown of all my exploits with the boys. It would take more time than we've got today to cover them all. And frankly, I'm exhausted from shopping with your mother."

Blaise stole her pillow back and turned onto his side. He patted the bed beside him. "You could lay here and take a rest. I promise not to manhandle you. I know how exhausting it can be to shop with my mother. That's why I have a tailor who keeps records of my measurements and I just owl him with a request here and there instead."

She sent him a scathing look, then walked to the living room to collect another arm full of clothing.

"The least you could do," she said as she set the pile on a red overstuffed chair by the closet, "is help me bring things in."

"But it's so nice watching you do these domestic things. I assure you, there won't be cause for you to put away your own purchases when you move into the manor with me. The house-elves will take care of all those kinds of things. In fact, I could call one to come help you now if you'd like. I could even assign one to take care of cooking and cleaning in your flat until you move to the manor—or better yet, you could move into Mum's wing now and save yourself the hassle later."

Hermione eyed him to see if he was serious, then deciding he was, she snorted and returned to her work. "I'm not moving in there any earlier than I have to. House-elves have turned you into a lazy sack of bones. Better watch out or you'll find all your muscles atrophying."

"You think so?"

She didn't have a chance to respond before he stood beside her, then lifted her easily into his arms and pulled her back onto the bed with him. She landed with a grunt of surprise. "Not such a weakling, after all, am I?"

Hermione placed her hand on his firm chest to push away and felt almost burned by the heat of his body. His muscles were hard beneath her fingers, his form well defined. When a waft of his masculine scent drifted her way, she took a deep sniff as unobtrusively as possible. He smelled amazing: all musk and skin and maleness. It took her a moment to realize his hands were trailing from her waist up the length of her back.

"You've been hiding things under all those robes, haven't you?" he whispered. "I had hoped it wasn't my imagination. I never really appreciated that."

Her imagination was going into overdrive, pushed by the increasingly intimate dreams she had been having about him lately. In her dreams she hadn't been able to stop at kisses. Not even close.

Her gaze met his and she felt something in her chest tug her forward. So there was chemistry there, after all. Still, she wasn't going to be an easy target for Blaise. He'd had things too easy in the romance department all his life. If he wanted something from her, she was going to make him work for it.

With that decision made, she eased away despite the gentle pressure he exerted on her back, begging her to draw closer. "You'll have to use that imagination of yours a little longer for the details, I think."

She stood and returned to her work, though her hands shook slightly as she placed the clothing on hangers or folded the jumpers and stacked them neatly on the shelf above.

Neither of them said anything for several long minutes, until after she returned with the bags from the lingerie shop—a collection she had no intention of parading in front of him.

"Was there something else you needed?" she asked him as she stashed them away in the bottom of the closet. She would sort them out later. She shut the door and turned to face him. He had slid all the way up the bed now so his head was against the headboard, though his feet and shoes hung off the side.

"I was just restless and thought I'd like to stop and see if you had some time. Would you like to go grab some dinner?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him. He was far too casual with her bed for her comfort, which could turn into his being too casual with her. On the other hand, they would be married for a long time—possibly as long as a hundred and fifty years—and it would be nice if they got along. Though his mind was obviously on things other than her brain, he wasn't being completely obnoxious. She didn't exactly trust this total turnaround of his personality, though. What did he think he was doing?

There was the fact that he had come into her flat without permission. She would see about changing and strengthening the wards immediately. She nodded. "I could eat."

With a grin, he stood and grabbed her purse, which was slung over the corner of the footboard. He looked at it, then gave her a withering look. "It appears my mum has some more work to do. I didn't see any bags or purses in that lot in the front room."

"I am not going shopping with your mum again any time soon."

He slid the purse on her shoulder, then tucked her hand into his elbow. "Of course you are. You still have to buy a wedding dress." Then, with a press of lips to her cheek, he Apparated them both away.

* * *

Though Hermione had other commitments the night of Blaise's business dinner, twice more that week he appeared on her doorstep to see if she wanted to grab a bite to eat. Thankfully, however, he actually knocked and waited for permission before entering. She wasn't sure if that was because the new wards she put up worked, or because he chose to respect her request. He hadn't remarked on the wards and she wasn't about to bring it up.

On these occasions, he turned out to be an interesting companion, she decided: Part sparing partner, part confidant. He made her smile inwardly, even when she refused to show that he amused her. He was intelligent and knowledgeable, traits she was bright enough to appreciate even if she still wouldn't have chosen this groom.

She was deep in preparations for Harry and Ginny's wedding, which left her little free time to herself. How Blaise always seemed to know when she had a free moment was beyond her.

"So Saturday is Potter's wedding?" he asked as they sat at a Muggle fish and chips shop. This man grew more confusing by the day. The press was still being obnoxious and cropping up everywhere, but still. A Muggle fast food place? What next? Computers in his house?

"Yeah. I know I ought to take you, but right now, since it's Ron's sister and everything . . . "

"You're trying to spare his feelings. I know." He rolled his eyes, but didn't seem put out. "It's not like Potter and I ever got along."

"No. It's not." Hermione felt no satisfaction with that answer. Harry and Ginny had been really good about accepting her non-choice once the initial shock had worn off. They still weren't happy about it, and she knew Ron was fairly miserable, but she hadn't been completely abandoned by her friends.

Once the initial furor at the office had died down, Hermione even found she was able to work again. Most of the time. It was amazing how many people were still clamoring to learn more about her and Blaise, though. She didn't understand the draw.

The reactions they received seemed to be mixed. In one trip to Gringotts, Bill Weasley all but gave her the evil eye from across the room, while Draco Malfoy was actually polite, greeting her with a nod and hello as he passed by.

The whole world had gone crazy.

When Blaise returned her to her flat, he went in with her, rather than leaving her at the door. "So, where's the dress?"

She searched her mind, but came up blank. Had they talked about a dress? "I have lots of dresses. Your mother bought me at least a hundred the other day."

"There were only sixty-two, and a few of them were for her," he said, studying the pictures on her walls, and the few knick knacks on the shelves. "No, I'm talking about the dress for the wedding. You said you're a bridesmaid, right?"

"Yeah." His question surprised her. Since when did he care? "It's hanging in the loo." She pointed toward the door of the room in question. It should have been in her closet, but it was so pretty she had left it where she could see it for the few days left before the wedding.

He strode to the door and opened it to find the dress hanging from a hook on the wall. There was a plastic cover on it, something Hermione had picked up from her mum. He fingered the plastic layer—it must have been strange to him, anyway, he tested the thickness and texture between his fingertips. Then Blaise lifted it up and looped it over the top of the hanger, exposing the emerald green confection.

"Wow," he said, studying it admiringly. "I bet you look gorgeous in that. It almost makes me wish I were going to the wedding."

She was not taken in by his flattery. "Really? It almost makes you want to go to a quiet little ceremony at The Burrow?"

He pulled a face. "All right, then, it makes me wish I could see you in it." He fingered the scoop bodice with the built in bra and ran a finger down the torso of the dress.

Hermione could almost feel his fingers traveling the same path on her flesh. She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling rather lightheaded. "Too bad you aren't going to the wedding, then."

"Yeah, too bad." He turned to face her and covered the distance between them in a couple of easy steps. "You can bet I'll be thinking of you in that dress all day." He brought his hand up and caressed her cheek, brushed a thumb over her bottom lip, then lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her mouth.

At first she thought it would be another of those light, quick kisses he had become so adept at practicing on her since the first kiss they had shared. After a few seconds, however, he pressed closer, slid a hand around her waist and pulled her in. He tilted his head and plundered her mouth, demanding more in that smooth way of his that made her want to give it. So she did.

She clung to him, drawing him in even tighter, and her hands dipped under his shirt and rushed up the warm skin of his back. His mouth left hers and cruised down her jaw and neck and she drew in a much-needed breath, which he stole a moment later when he sucked lightly on the hollow of her neck. She was trying to decide if she minded that his fingers were working on the buttons of her blouse when her concentration was broken.

"Mrroww!" A soft, furry head butted Hermione's leg again, and she realized Crookshanks had been trying to get their attention for some time. It brought her back to reality enough to realize she still didn't know Blaise all that well, and she wasn't ready to cross that line with him. Not yet.

Fighting herself for control, she removed her hands from his warm, taut muscles and pushed his hands away. "Enough. Stop."

She felt him exhale heavily on the skin above her breasts. "Come on, baby. Not right now. We're . . . everything's going so well." He pressed a kiss to the swell of her breast and she nudged him away.

"That's enough. Blaise, we still hardly know each other."

"We'll know each other _very_ well if we don't stop." His words were cajoling, but he pressed a kiss to her neck, then her jaw, her cheek, and finished with a soft, all-too-short kiss to her lips. "You're probably right, though." He swore under his breath and looked her deep in the eyes. "When every man at that wedding hits on you because you look like a million galleons in that dress, don't you forget you belong to me, baby." He kissed her again, then backed away, Disapparating without another word.

Hermione slumped against the door jam and let out a long sigh. She was in serious trouble if he kept being nice to her and plying her with kisses like that. She wasn't sure if it was his skill at kissing . . .and stuff that had her blood racing, or if it was only the enchantment, but regardless of how much she had enjoyed her time with Ron, this was something else, entirely.

_________

AN: Hope you're all liking this. Apparently Blaise can be something besides a git if he tries hard enough. =) More fun to come. I'll post chapter ten sometime this weekend! If youre enjoying this, please leave a review!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Harry and Ginny's wedding day was perfect. The sun shone, the birds and butterflies abounded, and flowers seemed to spring up everywhere. Even Bill seemed to have thawed a little with Hermione. Not that he was nearly as friendly as before, but at least his coolness was a step up from starring daggers at her. She hadn't seen Ron yet at all, probably by his design. She had mixed feelings about this as she both wanted to see him to verify that he was okay, and knew it wouldn't be fair to either of them to try and strike up a friendly conversation. And words between them at this point were more likely to be awkward and painful than friendly, anyway.

She came back up the stairs at the Burrow with the circlet of white roses Ginny had prepared for her hair. When Hermione reached the door to the bride's room, a house elf cracked into existence in front of her.

She stepped back in surprise, clutching the hair decoration to her chest. As he bowed in front of her, she recognized the house elf who had opened the front door at the Zabini mansion when she had visited the previous week.

"Hermione, what's keeping you?" Ginny's voice asked from inside the room. "I heard you come up the stairs."

"Just a minute." Hermione turned back to the elf as the bedroom door opened and Luna poked her head into the hall. She glanced up and met Luna's gaze, then returned her attention to the elf again as he offered her a large black velvet box.

"Miss, Litty has been instructed to give yous this from the master. Master says," he paused and squeezed his eyes together as if trying to remember the exact words, "he hopes you find it as beautiful as you is." He opened his eyes and beamed. "Yes, Litty remember right, that's what the master says."

"Thank you, Litty. I appreciate it. Tell the master I said thank you." She took the velvet box and Litty bowed, then snapped his fingers and disappeared.

By now Ginny had her head poked through the doorway too. "Ooh, is that from Blaise? He sent you jewelry?"

"I don't know." Hermione felt dazed as she looked at the heavy box in her hands. It was at least a foot square, and several inches deep, large enough to hold something far more ornate than a string of simple pearls or a chain and pendant. She allowed Luna to pull her into the room and remove Ginny's flowered circle from her hands.

"Open it," Ginny admonished.

Hermione still hadn't taken her eyes off of it, but now she pried the lid open—and gasped. Nestled in the silk lining was a masterpiece of a necklace. Diamonds and emeralds dripped and swagged from the chain, and a pair of incredible matching earrings sat snug in the middle of it all. The whole ensemble matched her engagement ring and dress. She felt breathless and dazed. "I'm going to go blind from the glittering." She heard the awe in her voice and thought that it really ought to be stronger, considering how dazed this gift made her feel.

"Oh, my! Are you serious?" Ginny pounced on the necklace, lifted it from the box and came around Hermione to lay the cool stones against her throat. The chain was only a little longer than a choker, clasping securing in the back while the stones flowed down her chest with the largest one at the bottom nestling in the valley between her breasts.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, Hermione nearly swooned. And then Luna lifted the matching earrings to her lobes. The shone and dangled and tantalized from their perch there, calling out like sirens. Hermione couldn't get a handle on Blaise. Ke just kept surprising her. "I can't believe . . . This must have cost a fortune. I'll lose them for sure."

"Don't forget this," Luna said, pulling a folded piece of parchment from the box and handing it to Hermione.

Hermione opened the note and recognized Blaise's even scrawl from the few notes he had sent her.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I wanted you to have something beautiful to wear with that gorgeous dress. Something nearly as beautiful as you are, and appropriate to your new station in life. Unfortunately I didn't have time to commission anything else, so this will have to do. It belonged to my great-great-grandmother along with the ring. There is a charm on the set so anyone can put them on, but only the wearer or one carrying Zabini blood can remove them. It prevents them from being lost or stolen, so wear them with confidence. I know I'll spend the day fantasizing about what you'll look like in your dress. You'll outshine the bride._

_Blaise_

Hermione's knees felt weak and she grabbed a nearby chair, sliding into it. This had come from _her_ Blaise? The one who told her she had to be what he expected, the man who only a week ago, had seemed determined to find fault with every aspect of her? Whose compliments had been so full of back-handed insults she had thought they would never in a million years find happiness together?

She wondered if a pod person had taken over his body—it couldn't have nee polyjuice, she would have recognized the hip flask. If it was a pod person, did she really want the old Blaise back? Nope, no, she didn't. She much preferred this confusing, distracting, sweet man to the snide and bitter one she ran into a couple of weeks prior. She really hoped this wasn't all for show and that he wouldn't revert as soon as the wedding vows were spoken.

"That's just about the most incredibly sweet and sexy thing I've ever heard of," Ginny said after she snatched the letter from Hermione's lifeless fingers and read it. "Is he for real, or is he only playing a game to please your friends?"

"I wish I knew. I hardly know what to think." Hermione touched the jewels at her chest again, then pulled herself back together. She shook her head and tapped the box with her finger. It shrunk small enough she could slide it into the tiny purse she had bought to match her dress. Then she took back the note, which both Ginn and Luna were pouring over, and slid it into the purse as well. She really needed to pull herself back together. "Now we need to get moving. Harry's probably wondering what happened to us." She lifted the circle of flowers to Ginny's head and pinned it on, rearranging the ribbons that flowed down the back so they were straight.

"Well, one thing's for sure. He was right," Ginny said. "In those rocks you do outshine the bride."

"If you really think that, I'll take the necklace off," Hermione offered. This was Ginny's day, and she didn't want to take away from it. Besides, though the jewelry was gorgeous, it was more than a little ostentatious and rushed across the line into gaudy. She'd never known before how much she liked gaudy.

"No way. You're wearing it all day. It deserves to be shown off, and you know it probably hasn't seen the light of day in decades. From what I've heard of Patrizia, it's probably not elaborate enough to please her. Just stand back an extra step from me and keep the rocks out of direct sunlight so you don't blind Harry with the sparkling, would you?" Ginny teased.

Hermione touched the necklace again, appreciating the glint and coolness, the sheer beauty and thoughtfulness on Blaise's part. She was still reeling from the tone of his note and the fact that he thought about the jewelry at all. Had it been simply for her friends' benefit? A demonstration to Ron of everything the red-head couldn't provide? That thought nearly had her taking the thing off, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it.

When they lined up to lead the bride into the wedding, Hermione was grateful that Neville came to her side. "Ginny had planned for me to escort Luna instead, but under the circumstances, asked me to switch."

She looked over and saw Ron staring at her, pain in his eyes. Neither of them spoke, though, they just held each other's gaze for a long, painful moment before he looked away. She was grateful Ginny had rearranged the procession. If she'd had to enter on Ron's arm, it would have been nearly unbearable for them both. As it was, she felt uncomfortable in his presence. He put on a good show at acting unaffected by her—he had obviously learned quite a lot over the past three years—but she had known him too long to be fooled. And the flash of hurt in his eyes when he had looked at her necklace made her wonder if Blaise had intended it at a taunt.

As she stood near Ginny at the front of the wedding, she thought about what her own hopes and dreams had been. She had wanted to belong to this family more than anything—the camaraderie, the wild chaos that always ensued when everyone was home. Being teased by all of the brothers—other than Percy, who was still a bit too proper for such things.

She allowed herself a moment to cry as Harry and Ginny exchanged vows. After all, lots of people cried at weddings, and she was very, very happy for her friends as love radiated from their eyes when they looked at each other. She was resigned to her own life with Blaise. It might end up happily enough, she supposed. That was more positive than she'd been even a few days before. Still, she didn't love him.

Would she ever?

The wedding went perfectly and the reception was flawless. Nothing like the day Bill and Fleur were married, which was interrupted by Death Eaters and hastened the young trio's lives on the run.

Hermione enjoyed the good food and conversation, making the rounds to talk to everyone there. She and Ron stayed on opposite sides of the room as if repelled by like poles of two magnets. For the first time since the news of the betrothal, she was not the main topic of conversation, though her jewelry did draw plenty of extra attention, and more than one person asked where Blaise was.

As the evening began to wane, she came across Neville talking with Padma Patil. "Come join us. I haven't talked to you since your betrothal became public," Padma said, motioning to Hermione. The truth was, they hadn't spoken much at all—ever. But Hermione wasn't about to quibble over details. "That is the most incredible jewelry. Is it an heirloom?" Padma asked, eyeing Hermione.

"Yes. Apparently it's been in Blaise's family even longer than the betrothal contract." Hermione rolled her eyes and sat with her friends. She asked Neville about his apprenticeship at the school to take over for Professor Sprout, and Padma about her training with St. Mungos.

"I'm learning so much," Padma declared. "I've been working with this Healer who has really innovative ideas. We're both learning and researching er, unorthodox methods for healing. I've been training at another facility to help me."

Padma had always been rather a socialite, even if she was brilliant enough to be a Ravenclaw. Hermione couldn't imagine her whole life was devoted to medicine. "And do you have time for men anywhere in all of this study?"

Padma smiled secretively. "There's no one interested in me, as far as I can tell. Well" she added with a private smile, "no one I dare show interest in myself. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be a good thing. But sometimes I think maybe, someday." She looked at Hermione and laughed. "I'm just dreaming." She changed the subject. "Your wedding is coming up fast, isn't it?"

Hermione smiled and answered all of Padma's questions—at least, all of the ones she actually knew the answers to. She hoped for Padma's sake that the man she was crushing on wasn't already married or something. Divorces were not simple things in the wizarding world, and Hermione couldn't see the beautiful woman intentionally coming between a husband and wife. Thank Merlin.

It was good talking to her school friends, but Hermione was grateful when the bride and groom finally left and she could say her own goodbyes without worrying about drawing comment.

As she walked to the Apparition border, she debated her destination. She fingered the necklace, reveling in what it could symbolize between them. She didn't want to give Blaise the wrong idea, but such generosity definitely deserved reward—that was, if he meant what he'd said about the dress and jewels and wasn't just trying to play nice. She wasn't sure which Blaise was real. Was it the disdainful pure-blood or the sweet, attentive fiancé? She had her doubts about the second choice, but wasn't sure she knew enough to guess.

She was exhausted. It had been a long day, but she thought she could stay up an extra half an hour. A moment later, she stood in front of Zabini Manor. The short walk to the front door gave her a moment to appreciate the beauty of the yard and gardens, even in the moonlight. She decided she would spend hours in the gardens at night in the future. The scent of honeysuckle floated on the breeze and she smiled. Leave it to Patrizia to have a plant blooming so totally out of season. There were some definitely advantages to magic.

She barely had time to knock on the door before Litty opened it for her. "Oh, Miss! Litty is happy to see you. The master is hoping you would come." He bowed her in, and then jogged ahead of her, leading her through twisted hallways to a door on the west side of the house. At least she thought it was west. She may have gotten turned around in the corridors. She made a mental note to request a map of the place before she was married so she wouldn't get lost.

Litty knocked on the door and when Blaise called for the guest to enter, Litty opened the door for Hermione and waved her in.

Blaise sat in a huge blue sitting room with white accents. The walls were painted with murals, there was a large bank of windows against the far side, and a fire roared in the grate to the right, even though it was plenty warm in the house. Several doors led from the room, which had tasteful, elegant, but sturdy looking furniture built to suit both men and women. When Blaise looked up from a book he was reading, he focused on her, then blinked. Without taking his eyes off of her, he shut the book and set it to the side. He stood and walked toward her. He circled a finger in the air. "Turn around so I can see the back too," he said.

Feeling herself blush, Hermione did as he asked, too flattered by the pleasure showing on his face, and the nondemanding tone of voice he used. "After you sent the jewelry, I thought it would be a shame for you not to see it on me."

"A real shame," he said from only a foot away when she completed her circle. "I must be the luckiest wizard alive to be marrying such a lovely witch."

Again, she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. "Thank you for the necklace and earrings. They're beautiful."

"I'm glad you like them. And I'm glad you wore that dress today so I had an excuse to give them to you early. Did you pick the outfit, or did Wea—Ginny?"

"Ginny."

His smile widened. "Remind me to thank her and to tell her what great taste she has when we see her next." He pulled her near and pressed a kiss to her lips, drawing her closer and deepening the kiss.

She reciprocated and they spent several long minutes tasting and experimenting, kissing and holding back from more before she drew away, though every part of her being begged to continue.

"Are you sure you have to go back to your own flat tonight?" he asked as his fingers stroked the soft skin of her neck, sending shivers up and down her spine.

Only if she wanted to retain a modicum of control over herself. She didn't know if she could hold back from this suddenly sweet man if she stayed even a minute longer—not with the enchantments yanking them ever closer. "I'm sure."

His eyes seemed to burn right through her skin and his voice was husky. "So you just came by to torment me?"

"I thought it was supposed to be a reward," she teased.

"Oh, it was. And a torment. I know Mum has a load of places for you to visit tomorrow, though, so I suppose I ought to let you go." He peered down into her décolletage and sighed. "Just don't let Mum convince you to get rid of that dress, baby. I definitely want to see it again."

Hermione sighed as she thought of the social engagements Patrizia had planned and hoped they wouldn't last too many hours. She didn't want to fall asleep at her Mum's. "Tomorrow night my parents invited us to dinner." She teased a curl at his nape, loving the softness of the hair in her fingers. "We're having some friends over—people I've known forever. It's kind of a joint birthday party. They're all dying to meet you."

Blaise pressed a soft kiss to her cheek and disengaged from her. "Sorry, I have things of my own." Neither his words or actions were unkind, but he gave off the impression of one who couldn't be bothered with trivialities. "Apologize for me, would you?" He ran a finger along the necklace, bringing goose bumps to her skin, teasing the swell of her breasts. Then he sighed and stepped away.

Apparently their interlude was over, Hermione thought. Though she really expected no better—much worse, actually—she was still disappointed by his blatant disregard for her Muggle friends and relatives. Not that she really expected him to be thoughtful or considerate, but a girl could always hope. "All right."

"I know today is actually your birthday, but I'll take you out to celebrate this week. We can go anywhere you want. Okay?" His gaze looked sincere enough.

"I don't care what the paperwork says, as far as I'm concerned, my birthday is still the nineteenth. It would be nice to go out together. Thanks. I'll let you know." She allowed him to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

As she left, her lips still tingled from his kisses, and she felt warm all over from his embrace. At the rate things were going, she might not hold out until the wedding, but she was glad she waited tonight. It was still happening too fast.

And she really wished he would give her family a chance.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Hermione showed up for Sunday dinner at her parents' house with time to spare. She had wanted to clean, launder, and organize all afternoon with time out to snuggle Crookshanks, who was old enough that she didn't know if he would see another spring. However, the social whirl had taken all day, and instead of being excited and perky, she felt like she had been run over by a train. It had been less than an hour since Patrizia let her go.

Blaise must have mentioned to his mum that Hermione didn't appreciate their pureblood nastiness, because she actually behaved herself—for Patrizia. The occasional off-hand comment about someone's birth still flowed easily enough, but the word Mudblood, and negative responses to Hermione's family hadn't surfaced. In all honesty, the Muggle relatives weren't so much as mentioned all day, though undertones made it clear Patrizia thought Hermione was wasting her time even caring about them. Since Patrizia hadn't been bold enough to say anything outright, Hermione just gritted her teeth and held her own tongue. They wouldn't 'train' her love for her parents out of her no matter how much they may want to.

Thank Merlin Patrizia had shown some discretion. Otherwise, Hermione honestly didn't think she would have survived the conversation that seemed to volley between insipidity and cattiness. She doubted the necessity or advantages wrought by the hours spend in visiting, but decided to humor her future mother-in-law, at least for a few weeks. Eventually she would have to wrest back her life, however.

Being at her parents' took some of the stress of her life away—even just seeing everyone, and the balloons and streamers festooning the house made a difference, despite the ever-present awareness that always followed her home, that she wasn't biologically theirs.

She grinned as she found Jennifer and Josh already in her parents' living room and settled next to them. "I was hoping to beat you here tonight. Have you been in long?"

"About five minutes. You look great. Life must be agreeing with you lately." Josh leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead in nearly the same place Blaise had kissed her the previous evening. This kiss, however, felt extremely brotherly, where Blaise's had definitely not.

"Life is certainly keeping me busy. And you, how is medical school?"

"Crazy. I barely have time to breath with all the work they heap on us. I'm loving it." He glanced back toward the front door. "So where's your man? I was hoping to meet him."

Hermione smiled and shrugged, trying to hide her wish that he hadn't mentioned Blaise. "He had other commitments." _Like the one to stay far, far away from all Muggles_. "I'm sure you'll meet him another time. In any case, it'll be nice with just the five of us. That is, unless you've got a woman stashed somewhere."

"When do I have time for women?" He leaned back in his spot on the sofa and rested his head on the cushions. His eyes closed and Hermione could see the stress in his face, the worry lines had deepened in his forehead and he looked tired. He was barely twenty-two—too young to look that tired.

"You always were one to push on despite the odds. Surely you've been seeing someone. I've never known you to be without a girlfriend for long, and it's been months since you broke up with the last one."

He smiled softly. "Oh, there's a woman, but she is, unfortunately, disinterested. Or maybe she's interested and just playing hard to get. In any case, if the woman has a regular pulse, isn't experiencing extreme pain, doesn't have a serious bleed, and is breathing normally, I don't have time for her."

"What a way to talk," Jennifer said, batting at his shoulder with her hand. "You've made time for Hermione, and she's female, breathing, and has a pulse."

"Yes, and if I forgot to show up to our birthday party, she'd probably track me down and do something horrible to me to make me pay."

"You better believe it. You wouldn't dream of the things I could do to you with only the power in these two hands." Hermione wiggled her fingers in example and stood, needing a drink. The temptation to give him a vivid bit of proof of her power was a little too strong, and she didn't want to risk giving in. It had been hard to hide her magic from him since she found out about it. He had never been overly upset by her weird manifestations before she started at Hogwarts, but she wasn't taking any chances. "I'm getting something from the kitchen. Anyone else want something?"

"Fruity soda pop, if you've got some." Josh spoke with his eyes still closed.

"If I didn't know you were joking—in this house—I'd have to lecture you on the evils of tooth decay." Mrs. Granger entered the room with a tray of drinks, no doubt carbonated water with lime juice and just a touch of sweetener. It was her favorite, and luckily, it was rather tasty.

"You read my mind, Mum." Hermione took her glass and returned with an extra for Josh.

He took a long gulp, then turned to face Hermione. "You haven't said one word about your man, other than the fact that he's busy with work. I thought all soon-to-be brides were supposed to be dewy with excitement and obnoxious, discussing every detail of their upcoming nuptials."

"I'd rather talk about your work. My future mother-in-law is pretty much putting the entire wedding together, anyway. It's not like I've been that involved in it."

"She likes to plan a party?" he asked.

"Yes, and she's very good at weddings. She's planned seven or eight before, so she's a dab hand at putting one together in no time." Hermione kept her voice bland, seeing no need to mention that all of those weddings had been for Patrizia herself.

Jennifer started coughing, and it took several seconds for her to stop. Finally, she apologized, "Sorry, went down the wrong pipe." She took a canapé from the tray sitting on the coffee table. "You've never cared much about that kind of thing. I bet you're actually relieved to leave the decisions in your mother-in-law's capable hands." Jennifer ate the canapé in one big bite. "These are great, aren't they?" she asked, her mouth still overfull.

Hermione took one for herself, tested it and answered, "Yes, to both questions. Despite the way things happened, I am somewhat relieved to not be bothered with all of the nitty-gritty details—especially considering how quickly it's coming up. A bit more input wouldn't go amiss, however."

"You don't seem very excited," Josh continued, pressing Hermione. "In fact, you never said what happened between you and that Ron bloke. One minute you're head over heels and the next you're engaged to someone else. And then there's a rush wedding." His eyebrows lifted and he lowered his voice a notch, but not so low that his mother wouldn't be able to hear him. "You're _sure_ you aren't in the family way?"

Hermione considered hexing him, weighing the consequences of using magic in front of two Muggles, then dismissed it as not quite worth the risk—though the temptation was powerful when he made suggestions like that. "No, I'm not pregnant. I haven't even had _sex_ yet."

"That was too much information." Josh held up a hand to ward off any further announcements. "I just don't understand how you could date Ron for so long, then suddenly marry someone else."

Hermione smiled to herself. "You wouldn't believe that our marriage was contracted magically nearly a hundred years ago, and Blaise and I had no choice but to comply for the good of our families, would you?"

Jennifer laughed, then drew in a deep breath. "I thought you left the realm of fairytales and historical romance behind already?"

Remembering their conversation in the park, Hermione smiled. "Sometimes my life still feels like a medieval story. There are definitely times I feel like I'm working in the dark ages."

"If it starts to get too dark, just turn on a light, okay? I'll leave you two to whisper secrets together, as if you were still twelve and thirteen. I'll just go help your mother in the kitchen." She stood and walked out.

Hermione tried another canapé, savored the herb-filled cheeses on the cracker, and reached for a third. She rarely cooked more than grilled cheese sandwiches for herself, cooking for one took far too much time and she had better things to do. She supposed that ought to be a point on the positive side for having house elves, but wasn't sure how she felt about that. At least she could insist that Patrizia stop insisting house elves were lazy—as if her insisting anything of the kind would make a difference.

"So if you weren't magically required to marry the bloke, explain how it really happened." Josh's voice was firm and unmovable.

Knowing he wouldn't let go of the subject until he got something of value—he was rather like a niffler in that way—Hermione acquiesced. "Look, Blaise and I aren't entering a marriage, so much as an alliance that will benefit us both equally. A partnership, of sorts." She stared at the ice cubes floating in the water of her glass. Trickles of water dripped down the outside of the glass, collecting on the cold surface.

"You make it sound so cut and dried, so sterile. What about love? What about the way you feel for Ron? This isn't like you. Are you even attracted to Blaise? And while I'm at it, what kind of name is that?"

Hermione chuckled at the last question, but didn't address it. "I hope love will eventually form between Blaise and myself." She didn't add that she thought it unlikely to happen in the immediate future. He was so selfish and pushy, even if he was acting a lot less like a git recently. "There is quite a bit of attraction." She thought of their kisses the previous night and after their date a few days earlier. "Um, a lot, actually. Scads of chemistry." She felt herself blush. "And if we're both determined to make things work, we're bound to do so."

"Are you sure the attraction isn't blinding you to his other qualities?" He held up a hand to stave her words when she tried to interrupt. "I'm just saying, this arrangement, this _alliance_, the haste of it, and the fact that you haven't invited anyone—"

"I know, Josh." She put a hand on his arm and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm sorry about that, but the guest list has been severely limited because of the venue." _Limited to my parents and then wizards only, that is._ "I want you to be there, but it's in this remote area, and things are just too complicated."

He waited a long moment, studying her face. "Hermione, seriously, have you gotten yourself into trouble?" His voice was low, face earnest, his eyes serious and flat.

She huffed. "I already _told_ you I'm not pregnant."

"That's _not_ the kind of trouble I meant."

She stared at him for a moment, then chuckled. "What, are you asking if I've gotten involved in organized crime?"

"No, not really, I mean, well, sort of. I'm not saying you'd do something like that intentionally. I just hate to see you getting in over you head."

Hermione tossed back the end of her drink and then turned to the man who had been so like a big brother to her. "My life has been little more than one instance after another of getting in over my head, as you put it. Oh, the stories I could tell you—if you would even believe half of them. No, this isn't anything like that. I know you don't understand, and you want to. I know my parents are confused and upset, and Ron is likely to avoid speaking to me for the next hundred years or so, but it was the best decision for me in the long run. I promise, it'll all work out."

Josh put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest. "I just hate to see you get hurt."

* * *

Monday morning Blaise was working through a large stack of correspondence when he received Malfoy's owl. The request for a lunch meeting was hardly unusual, but this time Blaise felt a strange sense of foreboding—especially considering the venue. Still, he brushed it back and accepted the invitation to Malfoy Manor, then forced his strange reaction away.

An hour and a half later he was welcomed into Draco's private office, and directed to the table set for two on the far side of the room. "Take a seat," Draco said. "Lunch will be served momentarily."

Blaise settled in and studied his friend as he took a sip of water. "So what's going on? We usually have these lunches out in public."

Draco brushed that away. "You've become too hot on the media market lately. I didn't want to spend my meal fending off curious reporters. There's nothing remotely private about any of the places we usually frequent."

"True enough." The meal popped onto the table before them and the two men tucked in.

Only a few more minutes passed, however, before Blaise again sensed that something was on Draco's mind. "So why did you bring me here today?"

His long-time friend chewed and swallowed, then wiped at his mouth with a napkin before responding. "Two things. First, there seems to be a snag in the feed supplies. Our usual sources are still unable to provide anything to us, and I'm going to have to dig a little deeper. They state that their crops are suffering from insect infestations, and their animals are also suffering from infertility. I can't figure out what's going on."

Blaise's eyes narrowed as he considered what that meant for him. He needed those animals and grains to feed his own businesses—the arms run by Theo and some others that provide so many of the needs of the magical society around them. Without his usual sources of feed (be then animal or vegetable) his own bottom line would take a serious hit. The infertility problem didn't seem to be happening to every company across Europe, but as he'd checked, it certainly seemed to be affecting a large percentage—too large to support the wizarding world at its current rate of use. An increase in prices was bound to follow. While Blaise would normally consider that a good thing, since he wasn't making the money, it caused him more than a little consternation.

Since the conditions and genetic lines of the effected animals seemed to be different, how were these occurrences connected? He had no idea. They discussed more on the subject through dinner, but when pudding was served, he remembered there were two things Draco had wanted to discuss. "And that other matter?"

"Ah, yes. This one is a bit sticky."

"And the first one wasn't?" Blaise lifted a brow.

"This one is somewhat more personal." Draco set down the fork he'd been holding and folded his hands across the table. "Tell me, how are things going with your betrothed?"

Blaise blinked in surprise. "Well enough. I followed your advice and she seems to be coming around to my way of thinking and is starting to behave appropriately. I've even found her good company on several occasions this past week. I think we will, indeed, suit as she settles into life as a pureblood—or at least we won't kill each other if the current trend continues. She seems a bit uncomfortable with Mum's, er, take-charge attitude, but hasn't outright rebelled, except for on the issue of the guest list. I haven't been overly concerned on that count, however, as Mum seems to have it well in hand. Now if I could only cure her of wanting to spend time with those Muggles." He shook his head at the thought. "She actually expected me to go to their house for dinner last night. Can you imagine? Me, in a Muggle home?" He rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps you should have." The words were barely intelligible as Draco seemed to study the table before him.

"That's cryptic. What do you mean?" Blaise's sense of foreboding from earlier returned stronger than ever.

Draco readjusted his hands on the tabletop. "I received a report this morning from one of my operatives. He's been particularly dutiful about surveillance this past week and picked up something interesting last night that I thought you ought to know."

As his stomach seemed to drop, Blaise set his fork on the plate, and turned his full attention on his friend. "I thought you said there was nothing to worry about. She was clean."

"She has been. I'm still not certain she isn't, but it does appear . . ." He pulled an envelope from the stack of papers at his side and slid it to Blaise. "These could be nothing."

"But you don't think that's true, or you wouldn't have bothered to mention them." Blaise pulled several photographs from the envelope and watched his betrothed hugging another man, sitting in his embrace, accepting a kiss—albeit on the forehead. She had promised him fidelity. What was this, anyway?

Did he confront her with this? His burning fury said yes, while his instincts pushed him to wait. The photographs of her laughing and touching this . . . he had to be a Muggle . . . made Blaise's insides burn and twist, but the photos weren't damning enough to confront her with. Just enough proof to make him ever-more vigilant and aware that she couldn't keep her word.

Finally, Blaise slid the photographs back into the envelope. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Keep your guy in place. I'll have to consider my response. I don't want to be precipitous, but neither will I tolerate this behavior." He stood, all thoughts of pudding completely wiped from his mind.

"I'm sorry to have to deliver news like this."

Blaise nodded. "Yes." He turned on his heel, and without another word, left the room.

* * *

As if Hermione hadn't dealt with enough shopping for clothing already, Tuesday afternoon found her searching through dress shops with her mum in Diagon Alley. The first dress shop had some lovely choices, but none of them really spoke to Hermione. Still, she had put a hold on two. If she didn't find anything better, she might go with one of them. It was amazing how much deference she had gained just by virtue of being the future Mrs. Blaise Zabini.

The second shop wasn't much different, and by the time she reached the third shop, Hermione wondered if she should just accept the dress Patrizia had picked out for her and call an end to the suffering. A contrary little part of her, however, refused to accept Patrizia's choice without at least exhausting all other possibilities. The older witch was, after all, getting everything else her way.

So when she and her mum walked into Wendy's Witchly Wonders, Hermione was willing to look at the dress chosen for her, but had no intention of choosing it. And then the clerk brought it out and Hermione wanted to melt in appreciation. Did the thing have to be so beautiful? Based off of what she had liked best from her new wardrobe, she had the sinking feeling that the dress would compliment her figure beautifully, too. Drat.

Still, she wasn't about to cave—not until she had eliminated all other possibilities. "that is lovely, I admit," she said to the clerk.

"Lovely? Hermione, it's gorgeous. And that's what Patrizia wants you to wear?" her mum asked.

"Yes. But I'm going to look around. Definitely keep that one out, though," she told the clerk, who looked a bit uncertain at her reaction.

Hermione wandered over to the racks and began browsing through them. Now that she had spent so many hours trying on everything imaginable, she had a better idea of what flattered her figure, what colors looked best—though she definitely wanted to stick to the traditional white. She pulled out and rejected several options, making her way through the room, turning to look at her mum's suggestions, but dismissing them as gently as possible. They were very pretty, but her mum had a very different figure from Hermione, and so she could wear styles that didn't flatter her daughter.

Finally Hermione turned from the racks and faced the clerk. "Do you have anything new that Patrizia didn't get a chance to see when she was here the other day?"

The clerk brightened. "Yes, Miss, we just got in several crates of new dresses from France. They're still in the back room. I was going to suggest you look through them next. They aren't official out for sale, yet, as they haven't been inventoried and tagged, but we always make exceptions for special customers." She led the two customers through a door and into the back room where The Dress hung, the center of attention, directly under a light, which showed off the way the fabric glittered.

Hermione walked toward it, unable to tear her eyes away. This was it—the dress she had searched for. And to top it off, Patrizia hadn't chosen it—hadn't even seen it, which meant Hermione could use that card in her favor in placating her future mother-in-law. But regardless, if the dress looked at all well on her, she would own it. "This one. I'd like to try it on."

The clerk bowed and smiled and carried it into the dressing room.

"Honey," her mum said in a low voice as she followed along her daughter. "Don't you think you should at least ask how much it costs?"

"Cost is irrelevant to the Zabinis," she answered, though secretly Hermione hoped Blaise got a stomach cramp when he saw the bill.

Once she had it on, Hermione knew this was the one. She nearly told the clerk to wrap it up, then decided she had to at least be able to tell Patrizia that she had tried on the very beautiful gown that had been chosen for her, even if she had no intention of buying it. So she did. And when she looked at herself in the dress, Hermione knew she had made the right choice. Not that she could have gone wrong with Patrizia's selection, it certainly flattered her, but it just couldn't compare.

She put on the other gown again and allowed the clerk to tailor it to her figure, all the while imagining the way Blaise's eyes would pop out of their sockets when he saw her in it. If he thought the bridesmaid dress was spectacular, he hadn't seen anything yet.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Another week passed in a frenzy. Hermione worked, spent hour after hour with Patrizia settling details, or rather approving details the older woman had already settled. The fun—if you could call it that—came when Hermione arrived Wednesday evening when Hermione arrived for more rounds of pure-blood etiquette training, more wedding details, and who knew what else Patrizia had chosen before her birthday dinner with Blaise. As she was shown down the hall to Patrizia's solarium, Hermione told herself not to get angry. This wasn't really her wedding, after all, she was merely the bride.

There was barely more than a twinge of sadness she would have no real say in what would surely be her only wedding—and a great deal of satisfaction in knowing she hadn't let Patrizia choose her dress. Unless Blaise did the same as Mrs. Zabini's husbands and died at a very early age, this was her only chance. Though she had joked about Blaise offing himself with Theo early on, Hermione hadn't wanted it to happen for real. And now that he wasn't acting like a git all the time—despite still having his moments—she would definitely feel bad if he died.

Patrizia's greeting was unusually cool when Hermione arrived. She directed tea be brought and pulled out her notebook, but instead of flipping to the first item on the agenda, or to asking how Hermione's day had gone—as was her wont—she started out in an unusual direction. "I went shopping for your engagement party today."

"Oh? I hope you were pleased with your purchases." Hermione couldn't care less what the woman bought, she just wanted this sham of a collaboration to end so she could get back to real life.

"_My_ purchases were fine. It was your purchase that surprised me."

There was no question now what purchase Patrizia meant, but Hermione decided to play dumb anyway. "Which purchase was that?"

"Don't be a fool. Your wedding dress was still in the window at the shop. When I mentioned to the clerk that I thought you had been by and picked it up already, she said you picked something different. It was the perfect dress. I don't understand why you didn't get it after I spent the time search for you."

Though there were many sundry ideas floating through her mind, but Hermione knew the majority would win her no points. "The dress you picked out was lovely. The dress I chose was perfect. You didn't see it, since it wasn't in the shop until after you visited to look for dresses. It wasn't even on the floor yet, the clerk let me back to check on their newest stock. I'm sorry you are unhappy about my choice, but it was _my_ choice. I believe I'm entitled to make one or two of those on the most important day of my life." She fought to keep her voice even, not to let the anger and frustration that raced through her veins to show. She wouldn't back down, though. She had a right to this and so much more.

"After everything I've done to make this the event of the year, you would go pick out the wrong dress for the occasion!" Patrizia slammed the notebook on the seat next to her and stood, moving across the room in a snit.

"You haven't seen it. It is the perfect dress. At least, it is perfect in my eyes. I doubt my selecting my own clothes for a change is going to ruin the day." She'd had enough of this topic, and decided to guide it elsewhere. "Now, I'm sure you have many other things for us to cover before Blaise comes to get me for dinner."

Patrizia stood for a long moment, her back turned to Hermione, her arms crossed over her chest. Finally she turned around, and stalked back to the sofa. "I'll not let your temper tantrum derail my work. You need to know . . . " and she continued on with her list as though there had been no interference.

* * *

Blaise's odd behavior kept Hermione off balance. He always greeted her politely enough, with a kiss to the cheek and at least one wicked suggestion to her under his breath during the course of their interaction, but something had changed since Harry and Ginny's wedding. He seemed more distant, both physically and emotionally. The man Hermione had thought she was beginning to know, ended up turning into more of a stranger than ever before. "Just one more facet of Blaise I'll have to get used to, I suppose," she whispered under her breath as she stared at her bedroom door Wednesday night after her birthday dinner.

She hadn't been particularly picky about where they ate, and allowed him to choose the place. He had taken her to an upscale wizarding restaurant in Paris she had only heard whispers about at work. Her soft peach robes had hugged and flattered her, he had paid her a kind of formal attention, complimenting her and asking her about her work. Still, he seemed removed, remote.

She couldn't figure what was going on, but something was definitely amiss. When she had asked, he'd given her a piercing look and lifted one craft brow. "There's nothing for me to share. How about you?"

The question had unnerved her, along with the intensity of his interest. She had no idea what she was supposed to say.

Blaise had brought her home, but then offered her nothing more than a brush of lips across her cheek, a polite goodnight, and he disappeared.

What was that man up to? She turned from the door and made her way across the room to her coffee table, where a stack of mail sat. There had been nothing when she left a couple hours earlier, but since the wedding had been announced, the owls had come thick and furious, rarely with RSVPs for the wedding, as Patrizia had arranged for those to be returned to her party planner. The top one caught her eye as it was a short missive, and in a familiar hand.

_Hermione, we're expecting to birth a thestral foal tonight, if you have time and get this message early enough, I'd love it if you stopped by. _

_Theo_

She didn't take the time to consider her actions, to weigh the positives and negatives, she simply popped over to the preserve his family owned.

* * *

The birthing went well with the foal arriving around one in the morning. The waiting time had been spent discussing the business and the changes Theo had brought about, and his dreams for it.

As they moved away from the pen where the foal was snuggling with it's leather-skinned mother, Hermione noticed there were lots of female thestrals in the barn, but she didn't see another other foals or pregnant mares. "I would have expected you to have a lot more foals at this time of year," she said to him.

"I would have too." His words were part wry, part worried and dragged Hermione's attention to him immediately.

"What's wrong?"

"We seem to be having a fertility problem with the thestrals. Some of the other animals too, to be honest. I can't figure out what's wrong. Last year at this time we had well over a dozen foals in this bard alone, but this is the only mother who seemed to take when we bred her."

That worried Hermione. Not only was she concerned about Theo's livelihood, but in her job she thought she should have been aware of problems like these. "What about the Aethonon?" That was a rather rare animal of the equine variety that she knew Theo's ranch was famous for.

"It's only slightly better. Two foals instead of the twenty we had expected. I've had egg and sperm samples tested on all of my animals but they appear to be totally infertile. My other, smaller ranch doesn't seem to be having this problem, but there are many others in my field experiencing exactly the same problem all across Europe. It makes no sense."

"I had heard Madam Maxim was having trouble with her Abraxon, too."

"And it's not just the equine. The mooncalves I've been raising have also gone infertile. Nearly all of my animals have. If I can't find the problem and reverse it soon, the whole business could go under." He lifted the hat from his head and rubbed the back of his wrist across the sweat on his forehead.

Thoughts began to pound through her mind. "I had no idea it was so wide spread. I'm surprised this didn't come to my attention sooner. I'll definitely have to speak to my superiors about this. This is a significant problem."

"So h0ow are you and Blaise doing? You're engagement party is only a few day away."

"Tell me about it." She stretched her tired back muscles and tried to put her thoughts into words. "We seem to be getting on, most of the time. He still confuses me, one minute he's hot, the next he's cold." She hesitated, but pushed on, whom else could she discuss all of this with? Certainly not Harry or Ginny. Patrizia was, well, Patrizia, and therefore inappropriate for the job. There was no one, and the look in Theo's eyes stated that he cared, wanted to know what she thought.

"He's really been better the past couple of weeks. The first few days were . . . pretty awful, actually. Since then, he seems to have warmed up to things a bit. Mostly, anyway," she added, thinking of her parents.

"Mostly?"

"I'm kind of overwhelmed. I'm expected to make a huge change to my lifestyle and plans to accommodate them, because _obviously_ they are right in every way, and I'm just the poor little Muggle-raised witch who doesn't know better. Patrizia actually had the nerve to pick out my wedding dress. And then when I chose something else, something far more too my taste, she threw a tantrum, and accused me of all kinds of nonsense."

She rubbed her eyes, exhausted from the long day and excess of emotions. "Blaise won't even be bothered to meet my parents. They don't understand how this all happened and they're left out of the loop. None of my Muggle friends or relatives can attend the wedding, but it has to be just perfect—and my opinions don't matter in the least." Tears rose to her eyes and one spilled over, onto her cheek.

Theo pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her while she cried. "I know he's a git sometimes, but he'll come around, eventually. He's bloody lucky to have a woman like you chosen for him—he could have been stuck with Millicent or even Pansy. Can you imagine?"

Hermione laughed softly through her tears, but his words helped alleviate her embarrassment and tension. After another moment, she pulled away and let him lead her to the front gate.

She turned to him as they reached the Apparition point. "Thanks for inviting me tonight. It was educational." She thought of the messy, sweaty work they had done, and the two of them, and Theo's foreman hadn't had half the time of it that the mother had experienced.

"You're welcome. It's nearly two and you look ready to drop. You have a long day ahead of you."

"Yes, but I'll be fine. Let me know if you think of anything that might be causing these problems. I want to do some research, get to the bottom of this."

"I will. Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight." And with that, she Apparated home.

* * *

"I tried to get a hold of you last night after I dropped you off," Blaise said, rushing into her office the next morning, cold fury in his eyes. "Where were you, back in Weasley's arms?"

Hermione's attention broke from the screen in front of her. "What are you talking about? You dropped me at the door as though I were of no more import than a box of socks. Besides, I promised not to be alone with Ron again." She narrowed her eyes at him as she realized why he was there. "Don't you trust me?"

Blaise continued around her desk and reached out, grabbing the arm rests on her chair, leaning in until his face was only a couple inches from hers. "The only time anyone asks if someone trusts them, is when they are being the least trustworthy."

"You are being ridiculous. Of course I didn't go to Ron's last night, or anywhere else where I might accidentally or purposely run into Ron." What was his problem?

"Then where were you?" He didn't appear to believe a word she's just said.

"The stables with Theo. He had a foal being born last night and since I had expressed interest once, he invited me to attend. I did. I found his note when I arrived home after you dropped me off, and I was here until nearly two. He's my brother, remember. I didn't think there were any junctions against my interacting with _him_."

Blaise paused, the straightened. "Well, then, you won't mind if I check that with him."

"Yes, I mind." Hermione stood until she was in his face. She poked a finger out and jabbed it into his chest with every word. "I mind that you so distinctly don't trust me, that you think it's fine to accuse me of things that have no basis in fact, and think checking up on me is A O K. Especially since you came in here throwing around accusations."

He seemed mildly stunned, but not too stunned to grasp her finger, to prevent her from digging it into his chest any more. "You were with Theo? Not with Weasley, or your Muggle boyfriend?"

"Muggle boyfriend? What on _earth_ gave you the impression that I have one? How many guys do you think I have on the line, anyway? I'm not one of your floosies."

"The night of your birthday dinner, you were with a Muggle man, laughing and joking, he even kissed you on the cheek and held you close."

There was no way he should know that since he had refused come with her. How could he trust her so little? "Have you been _spying_ on me? Do you seriously not trust me at all?" The betrayal was too much to handle at the moment, and she had far more important matters to deal with. "Get out. Get out, get out, get out! I don't want to see your face again before the wedding."

When Blaise acted as though he had every intention of arguing with her, she picked up her wand from her desk and magically pushed him out of the office and several feet down the hall. Then she shut the office door and returned to her desk. He'd obviously been spying on her—or had someone else doing the job for him. The man she was going to marry didn't trust her at all, refused to take an active role in her life, expected her to assimilate herself in to his. He accused her without cause of having a relationship not only with her old boyfriend, who wouldn't speak with her for years probably, but also her oldest male friend, to whom she had told a whopping stack of lies to protect him from the truth of her union. She had lied to or disappointed nearly every person she knew for Blaise, couldn't invite hardly any of them to the wedding, and he could do nothing but point the finger and accuse her of worse.

And she had to consummate the union with the git in just over a week. The thought made her grind her teeth in anger and frustration.

She heard pounding on her office door, and Blaise called out her, but she only placed an Imperturbable Charm on her door so she couldn't hear it, and returned to her work. Due to Blaise's requirement that they take a week from life as a honeymoon, to get to know one another better, he'd said, Hermione needed to get as much done as possible before then.

And the fact that the cases might save her from spending too much time dwelling on her personal problem didn't hurt either.

* * *

Blaise stormed into Theo's office ten minutes after giving up on Hermione—though the only reason he gave up was the department head's threat to call the Aurors if he didn't leave Hermione alone. The fact that said Aurors could be there in under a minute had hastened his choice.

He bypassed Theo's office manager with no more than a wave of his hand, then entered the back office. Theo was on a Floo call with someone, his head buried in the fireplace.

When he backed out a moment later, Blaise sent a piercing gaze through him as Theo straightened, rubbing his knees and back despite the cushion in front of the grate. "Hello, Theo. Nice day, isn't it?"

"Yes, Blaise. It would be nicer if I hadn't just spent two hours on my knees in a Floo call. Sometimes I think the Muggles have it right. Using a telephone is so much easier." He sat at his desk. "What's going on?"

Still wanting to spit nail, Blaise tried reining in his temper and only managed to tone it down slightly. "Tell me, when was the last time you saw my blushing bride?"

Theo's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Last night. I sent her a note when it became obvious one of my thestrals was going to give birth. She said she came over almost directly after returning home from your place, she was here until two in the morning. Why?"

Blaise cursed under his breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose and dropped into the chair. "I'm a stupid fool, that's why. She seemed anxious to get home last night, so I let her go early. Then we had an owl come through, something I thought she should know about. When I arrived at her place to discus it with her not thirty minutes after she had gone home complaining of a backload of work to do, she wasn't there. What was I supposed to think?"

"Let me guess, you rushed into her office this morning, throwing around baseless accusations and innuendos?" Theo sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "You are a fool, Blaise Zabini. The way you treat Hermione now, the respect and consideration you give her, will have a long-term effect on the happiness of your marriage."

"I treat her well. Can I help it that she suddenly had a change of plans last night?"

"No, but you could have walked into her office, stated that you tried to reach her last night, but she had apparently been out, then continued with your business, as though you weren't the least concerned about where she'd been. You know she would have volunteered the fact that we were together. You see, there's something she has, that you don't."

"What's that?"

"An understanding of how to make a relationship work. She dated Weasley for years—a hothead if I ever saw one—so she knows how to deal with it, but you haven't kept a relationship going for more than a few weeks at most, so you haven't learned any real relationship skills."

"Who died and made you my annalist? Besides, it's not like she's all that easy to get along with. One would think if she's managed to make a relationship work with Weasley all these years that dealing with me should be cake."

"Look, it was just me and her for several hours last night, and she didn't discuss her relationship with you much, but I got the impression that she thought things were going mostly okay. Her biggest concerns seemed to be the fact that you won't meet the people who raised her, made her into the kind of person she is. The duties of politeness would _demand_ that you meet her parents shortly after she met your Mum, but you've refused to do so. How do you think that makes her parents feel about your relationship with her? Do you think it sets their minds at ease, makes Hermione's life easier? It doesn't, but you're too much of a pig-headed git to see that."

"So now you're her champion."

"Someone has to be, and since her future husband refuses to take on the role, who better than her brother? I may not have grown up knowing her, but I do know she's my sister, and she deserves more than you've given her." He paused for a moment, then plunged ahead. "And the fact that you defer to your mother on everything, support her side against your future wife is not a good sign. She's trying to be positive, but even though she didn't want to talk about it, it clearly bothers her. The two of you are stuck together for the rest of your lives. Give her some consideration."

"I've given her plenty of consideration. I don't know what she's told you, but I've done my best to take care of her. We've provided her with a new wardrobe, refurnished her adjoining bedroom, since she refuses to share mine full time just yet." That fact still rankled.

"Did she want the new clothes? Did you ask her what she wanted the bedroom to look like?"

Blaise stared into his friend's eyes for a long moment, then conceded. "Mum picked it out. She's got excellent taste, as you ought to know."

"In other words, it doesn't matter what you bride wants, likes, or cares about. As long as your mum is happy, nothing else matters."

"She's gaining a great deal out of this marriage—far more than I am."

Theo rolled his eyes. "You aren't listening to a word I'm saying. Get out."

"What am I supposed to do?" He was more confused now than before he entered the office.

"Here's my advice. Treat her with the respect she deserves. She isn't your house-elf, or one of your floosies. She will be your wife, brighter than you ever thought to be, more powerful, and even without all that, holding the ability to make your life miserable just by virtue of being married to you. Think about that for a while. Now, I have stacks of work to do, and would appreciate it if you vacated my office if you have no business-related items to discuss." He leaned forward in his chair and turned his attention to the papers before him.

It was a pointed dismissal, and Blaise knew better than to argue the point. "Good day, Theo."

"Good day, Blaise."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

While she had a short lull that afternoon, Hermione remembered what Theo had said to her about the infertility in his animals that year. It still seemed so odd. She stood and walked into the reception area. "Hey, I wondered about the records for those licensed to raise magical creatures for sale. Where would they be kept?"

The woman gave her a questioning look. "Are you planning to buy something poisonous to set on your fiancé?"

Hermione laughed though it was a tempting thought. "No, unfortunately. I was curious about something I heard from one of the owners."

The receptionist stood and walked to a long shelf of books. "What company did you want to read about?"

"All of them." Hermione received an arch look, but chose not to explain herself.

"What do you want to know?"

Not about to start a stream of gossip before she had some idea if the problem was really as wide-spread as Theo thought, Hermione shrugged. "It's just a hint of an idea right now. I'll have to see where the information takes me." She stood patiently and listened as the records were explained, and what each of the notations meant, then retreated to her office with the huge tome.

It was well after quitting time before Hermione had sorted through the information enough to compile a reasonably comprehensive list of the companies and what kinds of animals they raised. Theo's establishment was the third largest in Britain, though it was obvious from looking at the numbers that most of that was because of recent growth. It had once been the largest such enterprise on the British Isles. He was right about how his dad had nearly destroyed the business.

Her back ached and her eyes stung as she closed the book and notebook. Current information on the herds around the country weren't available yet. She might have to do some footwork to figure that all out.

* * *

That evening Hermione was surprised to see Blaise standing at her front door when she arrived at her flat. "You seem to be missing a key point from our discussion earlier today. Not only do we not have a date tonight, but I'm not feeling particularly _charitable_ towards you at the moment."

Blaise leaned against the door frame and nodded. "I messed things up pretty badly, I admit." He produced a clutch of brilliant peach roses. "I hope you'll give me a second chance."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow, but didn't move one way or the other as far as the flowers went. She did, however, pull out her wand and spell the lock open, and release the wards. "Are you suggesting I have a choice about this marriage, because I assure you, I don't."

"Neither of us does, which is all the more reason for me to apologize on bended knees and grovel at your feet." His puppy-dog eyes feel considerably short of hound-dog disarming. The thought made Hermione want to laugh, but she held it back. He would misunderstand for sure.

The visual of him groveling was also quite amusing. Instead of grinning, however, she looked at him as blandly as she could. "I admit, I would like to see that. You're welcome to do so whenever it's convenient." She waved toward her doorstep.

He looked horrified when he realized what she was suggesting. "You're kidding, right?"

She cocked her head to the side and gave him her most innocent look. "What do you think? You barge into my office this morning accusing me of going to another man the moment I leave your home, point all kinds of ridiculous fingers at me, let out that you're having me _followed_, then you have to be forced to leave so I can get some work done, and you think you can toss some flowers and a smile or two my way and I'll fall down in abject worship? You've seriously overestimated your appeal, if that's the case."

His eyes clouded over with anger as he stood before her. "I've never groveled at a woman's feet before, and I don't intend to start now."

"Then our discussion is over. Good night." She stepped in and shut the door in his face, then crossed her arms over her chest and waited. A moment later she heard his palm connect with the door. "Hermione, open up. I'm sorry, okay. I won't do it again. I don't know what came over me."

She let him go on for a full minute before opening the door again. After favoring him with her most withering look, she granted him access to her house, plucking the roses from his hand as he passed. She walked into the kitchen, summoning a vase with only a thought, then filled it with water at the tap and arranged the flowers in the vase before turning back to him.

"Is all forgiven?" he asked.

"Hardly. All will be forgiven when you can show me that you will trust me instead of acting like an arse over the simplest things. That could take you a long, long time. I imagine you went to see my dear brother, to corroborate my story." The thought burned in her gut.

"Yes, and I'm sorry, again. I've been feeling like I'm being so good about everything, making things easy for you, acting pleasant and following the rules, but I haven't made the slightest effort to assimilate myself into your life. I don't know this guy you grew up with, haven't met your parents or tried to understand your point of view."

That surprised and amazed Hermione. This was a new aspect she hadn't seen from him before. "In that case, I may forgive you before we turn eighty." She took a moment to cool down, then managed in an _almost_ pleasant tone, "Thanks for the flowers; they're beautiful."

"You're welcome." He stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now, do you have an hour I can steal from you?"

She narrowed her eyes at him not trusting his easy charm. He seemed to wield it all to easily. "Why? What do you have in mind?"

"Just a short trip, I wanted to visit some people."

The thought of more socializing made her wonder if he would believe she had a headache. If she didn't have one now, she certainly would soon enough. "And you need me to come along? We're getting married in eight days, I haven't had more than a few minutes to myself in weeks and I'm rather backed up. Are you sure you can't go alone?"

"Well, it would be rather awkward if I did. I made my appointment with your parents."

Hermione felt her shoulders go slack, the fists she had begun to form when he had mentioned another social visit released and she blinked. "You're stopping at my parents'?" She still wasn't sure if she liked that he sprung it on her like that. Would he forever be planning her life without allowing her any input? But on the other hand he was actually making the effort to meet her parents. She hardly knew how to deal with that.

"As I said, it's past time I met them." He lifted his hand to her face and brushed a hair back from her cheek and smiled when she shivered at his touch. "You're rather lovely when you've been caught by surprise."

The comment pleased her, even as she wondered if it was all flattery. She felt the enchantments pulling them together, drawing her closer, making it nearly impossible to fight, or maybe just so she wouldn't want to. "You think so?"

He nudged her face up slightly and leaned in. "Absolutely." A moment later, his lips pressed softly against hers, holding gently, caressing, sliding across them, the tip of his tongue flicking against her lips, coaxing a surprised moan from her before he released her and stepped back. "I told them we'd be by at seven, which is in a few moments."

Hermione moved away, her heart racing and her knees feeling a bit weak. She hated herself for reacting to him, hated the enchantments even more for causing it and making it so hard to resist. "Of course. I'll go put my shoes on." She turned and hurried to the bedroom closet to retrieve the shoes she had kicked off as soon as she came in from work. She ran a brush through her hair, then slicked a layer of gloss over her lips. She didn't like to wear much makeup, but a bit of gloss was always a nice touch.

A moment later the two of them appeared at her parents' back door. When Blaise lifted his hand to knock, Hermione opened the door and called out to announce their arrival.

"You didn't knock?"

"They're my parents, not strangers. I generally try to make sure they know I'm coming first, but I see no reason to wait at the door like some salesman."

Her mum came through the door and lost her stride when she saw her fair-skinned, bushy-haired daughter with the sleek, sophisticated, dark-skinned Blaise. The pause was barely noticeable, but in that moment, Hermione thought she probably should have mentioned to her parents about his heritage. It wasn't that they cared if she dated men from other races, that didn't matter in the least, but it wouldn't have hurt if she had shown them a picture or something first. "Hello, Mum. I'd like to introduce you to Blaise, the man I'm to marry next weekend."

Her mother smiled. "Hello, Blaise. I'm pleased to finally meet you."

They had dinner and after a few minutes' time, Blaise seemed to grow more comfortable in the odd surroundings. The Grangers also began to appear more comfortable with their future son-in-law, though Hermione could tell they still had reservations.

After dinner, her father had taken Blaise into the living room to show him how the television worked and Hermione stayed to help her mother clean up.

"So, he seems nice enough," her mother said.

"Yes, well, he's never been as obnoxious as some of the other kids in his house. He's very involved in his family business, and has stayed very close to him Mum. That's a good sign, isn't' it?" She wasn't sure she actually believed that it was a good sign, but still thought it best to make her parents think things would be fine.

"Unless she keeps him so close that he sides with her against you, it can be very good. It shows a sense of family values."

"And he didn't have to be so nice to me, he could have been simply terrible and I wouldn't have had any other recourse, but he has gone out of his way to make things more pleasant for me." She thought of the kiss he had brushed on her in her apartment and willed herself not to pink up. There were so many other terrible behaviors he'd shown the past few weeks. She doubted their differences would be settled any time soon.

"I don't think I'm going to ask precisely what that means," her mother said.

Hermione exchanged glances with her mum and they smiled at each other. Everything would be all right.

* * *

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned back on her sofa, tucking her feet under her. The week had been grueling between shopping, dealing with Patrizia over the dress, arguing with Blaise, dealing with speculation in the paper about why Blaise had been pounding on her office door the previous day, and her research on the mysterious herd infertility. She hadn't had nearly enough of that last issue that day. She had received another draft of the werewolf legislation, and spent most of the day reviewing it, making notes and corrections and trying to chase down people to make some changes, while avoiding nosy Nellies who wanted the scoop on her relationship with Blaise. The vote was still several weeks away, but the process of law was never-ending.

She felt her eyes drooping, and was half asleep when she heard the flames of her hearth flare. She looked up to see Ginny's head sticking out of the fire.

"Hermione, you mind if I come through?"

"Ginny, no, of course, come on through." She had known Harry and Ginny were due back on Friday, but hadn't expected to see them until the engagement party. A moment later the flames flare again and her friend stepping in, flicking traces of ash from her clothes. "How was your trip?" she asked before Ginny had a chance to even greet her.

"Great. It was wonderful—long days in the sun, long evenings on the beaches, and that was when we bothered to get out of bed." She wiggled her eyebrows and tucked her legs under her as she sat on the other end of the sofa.

Hermione chuckled. "I'm sure you had a marvelous time, then. How long have you been back?"

"A few hours. You know Harry, the second we got home he ran to the Ministry to check on his work, see what was going on. He might be home before midnight." She rolled her eyes, but didn't appear put out.

"And you?"

"I've been getting everything straightened out at home, reading the latest lover's quarrel between you and Blaise in the paper, and checking through the post. Speaking of which, we received an invitation to the engagement party tomorrow night. According to Kreacher it came this morning." She patted her hair and gave Hermione a side-long look. "We still haven't seen the wedding invitation."

It took Hermione's tired brain a couple of seconds to realize what Ginny was saying. "You didn't get the invite to the party unto this morning? Are you sure?" She felt that familiar burn of anger rising in her chest. She had thought she knew what it was to be angry when she and Ron had arguments, but she was starting to realize that was nothing compared to what her future in-laws were driving her to.

"Kreacher was very specific about the fact that it had only arrived this morning."

Hermione sat very still for a long moment, then when she thought she had herself under control, she picked up the phone and rang her parents.

"Hello, Granger residence."

"Hello, Mum, I wondered. Did you receive the invitations to the engagement party and wedding, yet? I know Patrizia has been scrambling to get everything done." Hermione did her best to keep her tone light and her voice level. The last thing she wanted to do was upset her mum, but inside her blood was boiling.

"The party invitation arrived sometime while we were at work today. We haven't seen the wedding announcement yet. I suppose she may be waiting until after tomorrow night's party, but it seems strange when they are being held so close together."

"Yes, well, there's no accounting for wizarding customs, sometimes. Thanks, Mum, I'll see you tomorrow night." After a few more seconds of goodbyes, Hermione hung up and stood, stalking to the grate. A pinch of Floo powder, and she had her head in Luna's apartment.

Over the next ten minutes, she determined that Luna and Neville had also received their invites for the following evening's party that day, but nothing for the wedding. The Patils, however—an eminently respectable wizarding family of pure blood—and Theo, had received both days earlier.

When she stood, her knees creaking, she turned back to Ginny. The red head whistled. "I don't envy Blaise about now."

Fury didn't begin to describe the way she felt. "You'll forgive me for leaving to straighten a few things out, I'm sure."

"Of course. I actually kind of wish I could play a Rita Skeeter and hitchhike with you. I'm sure it'll be quite a show." Ginny unfolded herself from the sofa and sauntered over to the fireplace. "Let me know how it goes."

"If Harry doesn't have to come arrest me, you can be assured it went well enough. That is, unless I leave no witnesses." Hermione snatched her purse and keys and stalked to the outside door.

A moment later she appeared outside the gates to the mansion.

It took only a few minutes to find her quarry.

"Patrizia." Hermione stood in the doorway to Patrizia's solarium where she sat in state while she dictated instructions to several house elves. The directives appeared to be preparations for the following evening's events.

"Oh, Hermione, good, I wanted to do a fitting for your gown, we'll do that while you are here. Mizzy, go get Miss Nott's gown, won't you?"

Hermione seethed, grinding her teeth over Patrizia's insistence on referring to her as Nott instead of Granger. She had put up with the treatment through the social visits the previous Sunday. It stopped now, however. "It's Granger. It has never been Nott, and if you want to me to keep doing my _social duty_, you will stop referring to me by a surname that is not my own."

Her future mother-in-law looked at her closely for the first time since she had appeared at the door. "You looked stressed, Hermione. Stress does not become you. Why do you think I've been taking care of all of the preparations for the wedding, if not to prevent such a look from appearing on your face? My Blaise deserves a calm, happy wife, serene. Come sit. Take it easy, you work far too hard for the Mnistry."

There was no way Hermione was going to accept the offered chair when she wanted to rip someone's head off. Preferably that of the manipulative, controlling woman in front of her. "I really don't feel like sitting at the moment. I do, however, want to know what happened to the invitations that were supposed to be sent out to the people on my list."

"Quit acting like such a peasant." Patrizia's tone was petulant and exasperated. "Good manners dictate that you accept a seat when offered one. Any pure-blood, well-bred girl would know that if they hadn't been raised by Muggles."

Not daunted by Patrizia's tone, Hermione placed her hands on her hips and stared her down. "Good manners dictate that all guests be given ample notice of an event."

"Hermione, what are you doing here? I see you have upset Mum again." Blaise came in and kissed his mother's cheek, then turned to Hermione, looking a little tired. "What happened this time? Must you always argue with her?"

It felt like the worst kind of betrayal, even though she expected no better. How could he simply assume Hermione was at fault? Could his mother really do no wrong in his eyes? "It's not my fault she's so inflexible and cares only for herself." When he moved to protest, she lifted a finger and dug into his chest with it. "Your sainted mum sent out invitations to tomorrow's party days ago—to everyone on her guest list.

"Not so of my friends. _They_ all received theirs _today_. The day before the event. None of them have received wedding invitations, though everyone else seems to have received theirs on Tuesday. Four days ago." Hermione startled when Mizzy popped back in the room with the dress Patrizia had picked out for Hermione for the party. Hermione snatched the dress and tossed it onto the seat Patrizia had offered to her, then turned back to the elf. "Please bring any invitations for the wedding that have not yet been sent." The house elf gave her a frightened look and popped off without a word. Hermione closed her eyes in frustration. It wasn't fair to take it out on the house elf, but she was so angry.

"Now, Hermione, calm down for a moment." Blaise's voice was sharper than usual as he turned to his mum. "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you what's going on," Hermione gave Patrizia no opportunity to respond. "Your mother's gone out of her way to snub and offend my friends and family. And then she had to gall to talk to me about good manners and proper breeding."

Mizzy popped back in the room with a small box of invitations. Hermione just managed to prevent herself from snatching them from the elf's hands. Instead she spoke more calmly and accepted the offered package. "Thank you Mizzy, I appreciate your prompt help."

The elf gave her a strange look and then popped off again. Hermione turned to the box and rifled through the invitation, all organized and marked with the future owner's names. Everyone from Hermione's guest list was represented. "I'll see to it that these are delivered tonight."

"You're acting like a spoiled brat," Patrizia complained.

Blaise turned to his mum and shook his head. "I can't believe you did that, Mum. It was unconscionably rude to hold back the invitations. We don't have nearly enough time to give proper notice of the events as it is. Withholding the invitations even a day longer than absolutely necessary, never mind the fact that you apparently had no intention of mailing them until the event was nearly here, was very badly done of you."

Hermione was sure her dangling chin was a match for Patrizia's. Had he really just taken her side?

"I can't believe you are supporting her against me!" Patrizia said.

"Me either." Hermione added.

Blaise looked at Hermione, rolled his eyes and let out a deep breath, avoiding her gaze. "I don't have to like that Muggles and other less-desirables will be flooding this house, but that doesn't mean you aren't entitled to some consideration." He seemed to study a small statue on the sofa table.

Disarmed and confused, Hermione lost her will to fight. "Thank you, Blaise."

Now he met her gaze, and his eyes seemed to burn with a fire deep inside. "You're welcome. Now, how about if I take you home? It is quite late, and I'm sure you're exhausted."

"I am." She allowed him to take her arm, then turned to look at Patrizia, whose face was knotted up in anger and frustration, and a huge chunk of disbelief. Then they were squeezed into the space between places as he Apparated them home.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Octavia looked at the invitation in her hands, and the letter that had arrived only that morning. The invitation to the engagement party, along with the invitation to the wedding had both arrived by owl days earlier. When they had come, she had looked at them with longing, but didn't give them real consideration. She had kept herself hidden all of this time, had thought it best to keep Hermione in the dark about her parentage for as long as possible—though she hadn't expected that to be nearly as long as it had turned out to be. What were those solicitors thinking, leaving the office to a house elf for maintenance for so long?

She still remembered the way she had felt when Hermione had been born. She had been so proud of the baby, so in love with her offspring long before the birth ever happened. Octavia had been in hiding for several months already, but when the owl had arrived with the marriage contract and she had realized what was in store for her baby, Octavia had been unable to sit by and allow her daughter to be taken, to be raised by Augustus or any of his Death Eater family. The Zabinis, though not known sympathizers of the Dark Lord, were not much better with their pure-blood prejudices.

Before twenty-four hours had passed, she had realized there were only two choices. She could hide with her little girl and hope they weren't discovered, or she could hide her baby among Muggles and hope the upbringing the tot learned with them would keep Hermione safe from danger, hidden in the Muggle world until the Dark Lord's reign ended. It couldn't last more than a few years, could it?

And then Hermione had gone to school and made friends with the Boy Who Lived and her future was set. Worse, Octavia had put herself in a position where she couldn't protect her daughter, or even speak up for her.

After years of following her daughter's school exploits in the papers when she could get a hold of a copy, Octavia had the opportunity to be at one of the biggest days of Hermione's life—you know, aside from facing down the Dark Lord and the myriad other things a teen should never have experienced. The question was whether Octavia could affect an appropriate disguise, something others wouldn't even think to try and look through. She wanted to see Hermione dressed up in the finery the gossip columns had mentioned—she had recently re-subscribed to the Daily Prophet knowing it would be the only way she would get any of the information she craved.

And then there was the letter from Hermione. It had arrived in her Muggle post box only that morning, a note directly from her daughter, forwarded by the solicitors, asking for information. Why had she left Hermione with the Grangers? Why hadn't she made sure Hermione knew about the contract years earlier? Why hadn't she felt it necessary to share the truth about her heritage? Didn't Octavia care about her at all?

That last question caused an ache in Octavia's chest. She still loved Hermione with a mother's pure love, but was uncertain whether the truth and a meeting between them would serve any good purpose.

Still, she turned to the mirror and picked up the wand she so seldom even pulled out to look at, never mind used. Pointing it to her hair, she turned it to a bright brassy red, then decided that was too close to her natural shade, and changed it to black. Then she turned it to her eyes. Blue, she thought and used the spell that would make them unrecognizable.

* * *

Hermione stood in front of the mirror in the room at Zabini Manor that had been appointed for her use when she was on grounds before the wedding. In this case, it was used for her to change into her party clothes, and allow the professional hairdresser and makeup artist to do their work once they finished with Patrizia's. The mirror said they did their work exceptionally well—though Hermione had never completely gotten used to mirrors sharing opinions out loud.

Hermione was impressed with the coif the hairdresser had managed, making the most of her curls so the wild mane appeared surprisingly sophisticated. It was pulled up on top in some sort of knot with tendrils teasing the skin of her neck and cheeks. The makeup emphasized her eyes, making them look impossibly large, her skin unnaturally perfect without appearing to be made up at all.

The dress robes were exquisite as well. Hermione hated to admit Patrizia had chosen so perfectly. They were a faded golden color that fell and gathered to make the most of her assets, and downplay her less amazing features. They fit perfectly, despite the fact that Hermione hadn't put up with fittings for them after her argument with Patrizia. All in all, she felt like Cinderella at the ball.

Now she tried not to fidget as she waited for Blaise to collect her. The party was about to begin, and according to the house elves, the first guests were already sampling the canapés and champagne.

The door opened and Blaise entered without so much as a knock. He looked very handsome in his black robes, like a tuxedo for Muggles. It made the best of all his many, many assets. Choosing not to mention how smashing he looked, Hermione instead lifted a brow. "What did I say about you walking into the room without knocking? What if I had been dressing?"

"First, that rule was for your flat. This is my house and my rules. Second, it wouldn't have bothered me at all to get a preview of all those soft curves before the wedding. Though at this hour I didn't expect to be so lucky." His eyes trailed over her form, and he wet his lips in a manner that made Hermione think it was unconscious. "I wouldn't mind seeing you without the dress. Then again, I must admit that dress does admirable things for your figure. You look fabulous."

Hermione huffed and glided past him to the door even as her cheeks turned hot at his words and the frank admiration in his eyes. "You do have grand dreams, don't you?"

"Does it drive you off your nut knowing you can't stop me from imagining what's beneath all that fabric?" he asked as he slid his hand around her waist, making her pulse scramble when he drew her near. She felt warmth and little zings of electricity spread along her skin from the point of contact.

His voice was low, meant for her ears only, sending shivers down Hermione's spine. _When did I become attracted to him—really attracted and not just for pretend?_ "I couldn't care less what's in your head, Zabini, so long as you keep your hands to yourself." She pushed his grasp from her waist and he snagged her hand and set it to his elbow before she could exit the room. Her comment wasn't precisely accurate, but she wasn't about to let him know she found it titillating, thinking of him fantasizing about her. She gulped in a deep breath when she realized she had all but stopped breathing.

He laughed low in his throat. "That's just as well. I have a very vivid imagination."

They entered the ballroom a few moments later after being announced at the door like some British royalty. As Hermione smiled and looked around the room for one friendly face, she mused that the Zabinis were about as close to royalty as the wizarding world got. Money was king, after all, and in the absence of any titled families, she was close enough.

The next several hours included round after round of introductions, small talk, congratulations, canapés and sips of champagne. Hermione didn't allow herself more than half a glass per hour, not wanting to end up even the slightest bit tipsy on this night. She did her best to blend with the other pure-bloods, without losing her sense of self, a balancing act whose difficulty Blaise didn't seem to appreciate. At least he didn't seem to enjoy her struggle to keep her own identity.

When Blaise approached again, she was speaking with a small group of people that included a French Potions master, a British oil baron and his wife who had a foot in each world and enjoyed their dual status, and a black-haired matron with amazing ice-blue eyes that seemed to penetrate Hermione to the core. "You will forgive me for spiriting my bride away, won't you? It's time to start off the dancing."

They all agreed and he led her onto the dance floor and pulled her into his arms, far closer than waltz regulations allowed. They took the first two turns of the room before others joined them. The musky scent of his cologne filled her senses as his touch made her burn for more. The solicitor had said the compulsion charms would draw them closer, compel them to create offspring. She could believe it with the way she felt now. His voice was low, husky in her ear as he began to speak to her of all the things he wanted to do when they were married, the places he would touch her, the fire he would put in her veins.

She shivered as he pressed his lips to the soft skin of her neck and wondered if he had any idea of the inferno his words were creating inside her. Still, she wasn't read to give in to him. The fact that he took her side the previous night did not undo all of the horrid behavior that came before. Both strong thankfulness for the end of their proximity, and great reluctance to let her go hit her as he released her at the end of the song.

He looked her in the eyes and undoubtedly noted the flush in her face, the desire burning in her eyes, and he kissed her softly. "If it wouldn't be unpardonably rude, and if I thought there was even the slightest chance we could get away with it, I'd spirit you back to my room right now and see what is hiding under that dress."

She pushed him away gently, though it took all of the strength she possessed to do so. "We have guests, and I'm sure your Mum is dying to introduce me around to all of the important people."

He shuddered slightly, then, as if in slow motion, lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. "Until later."

They saw each other here and there through the evening, managed to eat dinner together, but shared no more than a few private words the whole rest of the night.

It was nearly three in the morning and Hermione held onto Blaise's elbow for the strength to stand as they waved away the last of the guests. She didn't remember ever being so tired before. Perhaps she had been young enough in school that her body had dealt with stress better, or perhaps it was the stress of trying to keep up appearances all night.

In any case, when Blaise walked her back upstairs to her room, Hermione was incredibly grateful to have it over and done with. "How many people did I meet tonight, two thousand?" She struggled not to yawn.

"There were only four hundred in attendance, and I'm sure you didn't meet them all." Blaise's response was little enough comfort. "At most parties we'll be the guests, so we'll be able to leave at a decent hour. I was beginning to think the Dunzels would never leave." He covered his own mouth as he yawned, giving the first sign of weariness Hermione had seen all evening.

Though Hermione wanted to pay attention to her surroundings, getting more familiar with the layout of the house, and learning about the ancient Egyptian artifacts and Ming vases lining the walls in discrete alcoves, she was far too tired. Her eyes felt bleary.

They arrived in the room and Hermione began walking about, picking up the bits and pieces of her belongings.

"What are you doing?" Blaise asked after a moment.

"Preparing to go home. It's late, in case you didn't notice."

"Don't be a fool. You have a room here. Stay the night. You'll splinch yourself Apparating and you'll undoubtedly exit at the wrong grate if you Floo. Besides, that dress is far too expensive for Floo travel."

She felt ready to drop, but still thought she ought to put up a token resistance. "Blaise, I have my own flat for a reason."

Blaise removed the belongings from her arms and guided her exhausted form to the bed. "I'm not taking no for an answer. Get into bed."

"In this dress?" The thought was appalling. It would be completely ruined. And there was no way she was going to strip out of it while he was in the room.

"I'll remove it magically once you're under the covers."

"I can take care of it myself." Hermione was scandalized.

"Don't been such a worry wart. You're too tired to mess with magic. Climb in and I'll take care of things. Then you can sleep here and return to your flat after breakfast tomorrow. I promise to be a gentleman, no matter how tempted I am to act otherwise."

"You, a gentleman?" Still, Hermione began slipping from the high heels that made her feet feel as though they were on fire.

"I may never make the offer again, so you better take advantage of it while you can." He nudged her onto the bed, which already had the covers pulled back. When she sat, he nudged her closer to the headboard, then placed gentle pressure on her shoulder so she rested against the pillows. Lying in the bed was like floating in a cloud. Hermione was afraid she would melt into the softness before his eyes.

He lifted her feet onto the bed and sat near them. "You actually did much better tonight than I expected. I was impressed."

Hermione moaned as he picked up one of her feet and began to massage it. "I was sure you glared at me a few times."

"It must have been your imagination." He moved to the second foot after a moment, making sure to get between her toes and along her arch.

"Where did you learn that?" She bit back another moan as his fingers expertly teased her sore feet. "We have a new rule: I will willingly spend my life in ridiculous shoes attending your social events if you promise to give me a foot massage after."

He moved to her calf, causing her to moan again. She was starting to wonder why she held herself back. If his touch on her lower legs could feel this good, she could only imagine what else he could manage. She felt herself heat as the magic and her own growing attraction began to take over. He gave her a sad look. "If I thought you were awake enough to make an informed decision, I'd keep on going. But as you're not . . . " He left the sentence unfinished, and placed both her feet under the covers, then drew the blanket over her. He tapped at one visible strap at the top of her shoulder with his wand and the dress flashed off her, reappearing in a chair across the room. "Goodnight, Hermione."

Sleep already claiming her, Hermione felt her eyes drift closed. "Good night, Blaise." She felt his lips brush across her forehead, then heard his footfalls cross the room and the outer door close before she slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

The next morning she awoke to find Blaise sitting by her bedside. He was fully dressed and buttering a steaming hot muffin.

"What are you doing in here?"

He placed a dollop of jam on the muffin and turned to her. "I'm eating." He took a bite of the muffin and grinned at her.

"So I see. But why are you eating in my room?" She rubbed her face with her hands and felt the covers rub against her skin. Looking down she realized she was wearing only her bra and underwear, and the blankets had slid down her torso. She grabbed them up and tugged them to her chin.

"I admit, the view is better in here than in the dining room. Or it was until a moment ago." He took another bite of muffin. "I can always hope it'll improve again, however."

His words annoyed her. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"What kind of gentleman would wake a woman who was obviously so knackered?"

"What kind of gentleman would creep into a woman's bedroom to spy on her in her sleep?"

He grinned. "One with flexible morals. Besides, it's nothing I won't see in the future."

"Not the _very_ near future."

"Not that distant, either. Only a week, no matter how much you'd like to put it off longer." He eyed her heated face and smirked. "Then again, perhaps you don't wish to put it off for long." He put a dollop of jam on the other half of his muffin and held it to her mouth. "Try this, I guarantee you've never eaten anything like it."

Hermione opened and nearly moaned as the flavor and heat exploded in her mouth. There was a whole stack of the little goodies on the table beside her bed and Hermione felt suddenly ravenous. She slid one arm out of the blankets and summoned a robe from the closet. "Turn your back."

He looked her over, lust glowing in his eyes. "I'd really rather not."

His arrogance and pushiness was really too much, she thought. "That wasn't a suggestion."

When he made no move to turn around, she lifted an eyebrow and waved her hand again. His chair slid into the closet and the closet door slammed shut on him. Knowing she wouldn't have long, Hermione hurried to don the robe while he was still stunned by her actions. She flapped the robe around her legs, then sat back on the bed, covering her lower legs with the sheets before reaching for a muffin.

The closet door slammed open and he stood in the doorway, staring at her in disbelief. "I can't believe you just did that."

"Believe it. And know I'll do the same any time I ask you to leave or turn your head and you refuse. I don't appreciate you not taking me seriously. You're welcome to join me again, if you'd like to bring your chair over."

He stared at her as she added jam to her buttered muffin as if nothing of import had happened. In truth, she struggled to keep her hands from shaking, wondering if she had gone too far and he would be upset. They really didn't know each other very well, and she had no idea how he might react.

His response surprised her, however. "That was bloody wicked. How did you learn to do that?"

"Practice, focus, and aptitude." She looked at him, considering. "You've got quite a bit of magical talent. You may be able to do some wandless magic, in time. If you apply yourself. Then again, perhaps it would be better if I didn't teach you how."

He dragged the chair back to her bedside and sat again, ignoring the food for now, focusing on her. "You're such a combination of opposites."

Hermione kept eating, finished the last bit of muffin on her plate and then chewed and swallowed. "You seem rather resigned to the marriage, even like you might be looking forward to it. What happened to change your mind about marrying me?"

"My initial reaction was just the shock talking. Since then I've been able to see the personal advantages to our marriage—and before you snap at me, I'm not talking about the sex." When she gave him a disbelieving look he corrected his statement. "Well, I'm not _only_ talking about the sex—it's been a bloody long year, I tell you." He grabbed another muffin and split it open. "Truth is, you've access to a whole segment of wizarding society that I don't. You have the perspective of a Muggle-born whatever your blood. That might come in handy in my business. Besides, once I bothered to open my eyes, I couldn't help but notice you're bloody beautiful."

She allowed an eyebrow to lift at that final declaration. Beautiful wasn't a word people normally associated with her. At least, it wasn't a word she associated with herself. She looked amazing the previous night, but not because she was beautiful, but rather because she looked _almost_ beautiful. "I'm flattered, but don't think I don't know what I really look like. I have a mirror, you know."

Blaise opened his mouth to say something but a house-elf cracked into existence at their side. "Master, sir, Mr. Malfoy is here to be seeing you, sir."

"Thanks, Bitty. Tell him I'll be with him shortly. You put him in the Blue Parlor, didn't you?"

"Yes sir, I is doing it." The house elf Disapparated and Blaise returned to his breakfast.

Hermione said nothing as Blaise filled their plates with bacon, eggs, and muffins. He poured their breakfast tea and took a long sip of his before turning his attention back to his plate.

"Aren't you going to go speak with Malfoy?"

"He'll wait. He did interrupt my breakfast, after all. If he wants to speak with me, it won't kill him to cool his heels." He scooped a fork full of eggs into his mouth.

"Not that I have any problem with you keeping Malfoy waiting, but it's not very nice of you." And he said she was a strange combination of opposites, she thought. Weren't they supposed to be good friends?

He met her gaze and gave her a serious look. "I'm not always nice, Hermione." He took another bite of his breakfast and Hermione allowed him to eat in peace.

She was nearly finished with her food when he pushed back his chair and turned toward her. "I'm afraid this is going to take several hours." His eyes strayed to her lips, then down to her chest where the robe covered her, there was definitely longing in his gaze. He sighed. "I had hoped to have longer with you this morning, but I don't suppose it can be helped."

"I need to take care of a few things at home anyway. Between one thing and the next I've hardly had time for laundry, never mind anything else."

"And your schedule isn't getting any clearer. Mum said you get the morning off, but then she wants you to do a couple of afternoon visits with her." He pulled her close and pressed a linger kiss to her lips, trailing his fingers down her neck, along her collarbone, to rest on her shoulder. "See you later."

Hermione sighed and finished her breakfast before changing into her regular clothing and heading down the main staircase to the Apparition point out front. Before she reached the front door, however, she passed Blaise's office and heard he and Malfoy talking. She couldn't help but hear the conversation, or linger to catch more.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Blaise had been reluctant to leave Hermione's side for more reasons than just her many charms. Lately his conversations with Malfoy had been all focused around the same issue—herd fertility problems. There were days when Blaise wished his ancestors had stayed away from agriculture and animal husbandry. Why couldn't they have worked instead to bring ball-point pens into the wizarding world? There had to be a fortune in those things.

Still, Draco was here, and he had been forced to wait longer than politeness allowed. Before entering the Blue Parlor, Blaise straightened the lines of his jacket and put on an expression of bored unconcern.

He let himself into the parlor and closed the door behind him. "Draco, what has you here on a Sunday?"

"I could have come yesterday, but decided you would be a bit busy with the party last night." Draco scowled at his friend and checked his watch. "What took you so long? I've been here nearly an hour."

"It hasn't been much over thirty minutes," Blaise corrected though it had been more like forty-five, "and I've been busy with my betrothed this morning. We were enjoying breakfast in bed." He allowed a lascivious smile to slide onto his face before he glanced at the selection of muffins and fresh fruit the house elves had laid out for his guest. He couldn't help but poke at his friend.

Draco's eyebrows lifted, but he didn't look a bit curious. "Please spare me the retelling of your exploits. I really don't want to know your opinion of Granger's talent in the sack."

"Well, her moves really are quite impressive. I've rarely seen their equal, in fact." Blaise teased, and held back a grin when Draco winced. He lifted a strawberry to his mouth and sank his teeth into the flavor-bursting berry.

"I told you I didn't want to know about your sex life with her." He pushed away his plate.

"What are you talking about?" Blaise licked his fingers and then turned a glare on Draco. "Like I would tell you about my intimate moments with my fiancé. I didn't say a word about sex—I was talking about other magical abilities."

"You've never been fussed about dishing on all of your other women," Draco pointed out with a glare.

"No, but they weren't my betrothed, were they? I didn't exactly respect any of them. The woman I'm going to marry is another story." He picked up another berry and took a small bite, grateful the house elves kept strawberries growing in the estate's greenhouses all year round. They were his favorite. "She showed me an impressive bit of wandless magic, actually. It seems she couldn't let her brain go to waste when she was on the run from the Dark Lord. The know-it-all made good use of her free days." He looked over and saw Draco wasn't even playing with his food anymore. "Are you really put off by my jokes?"

"No, I ate earlier. This was little more than something to occupy me while I waited for you." He gestured to his plate.

Blaise smiled. "Well, glad to keep you entertained, anyway." He decided it was time to ask his original question again, though he feared he already knew the answer. "What brought you here this morning?"

"Business." Draco stood. "Perhaps we ought to take this discussion to your office. We may need to refer to some of your records. I brought some interesting information, but I'm not sure how to interpret it."

Blaise stood and led the way to his office up the stairs and down the hall. He could have had Draco shown there to begin with, but he didn't like people poking around in his papers when he wasn't around.

When they were sitting at the sofa Blaise kept in his office for casual meetings, Draco pulled a large envelope of papers from his breast pocket and laid them out on the cherry wood coffee table. "The numbers are worse than we thought. Almost everywhere. I've been contacting brokers of other magical animals all over Europe and finally heard back from Vaiseys." He pointed to a number at the bottom of the top page.

"What? That can't be right." Blaise shook his head in surprise. While everyone else was struggling for minimal births, Vaiseys seemed to be experiencing an explosion. How had they managed it?

"I sent someone in to investigate. It's true, they are getting great fertility rates—possibly even better than the usual ones."

"Could they be using a potion?" Blaise's mind whirled with the possibilities.

"Could be, but Theo's tried that too, so have a lot of the other companies, and no potion seems to be helping much."

"Could it be something in the water or their feed?" Hermione's voice asked from the doorway. When both men turned to her, she blushed slightly. "Sorry, I was just passing down the hall and heard you talking. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop."

"I thought you were leaving?" Blaise asked. He remembered all too well how sweet she had looked tucked up in bed. He felt a strong urge to scoop her up and carry her back there—this time to do more than eat.

"I was. What's this about Vaisey's operation? They have normal conception rates?" She stepped a bit closer to the papers on the desk.

"Nothing for you to worry about, Granger," Draco interjected. "Just business."

"Yes, my business too, in case you've forgotten. I do work with regulating magical creature. That means problems in the industry concern me too."

"What do equal rights for house elves or you werewolf legislation have to do with moon calf fertility rates?"

She tipped her head and smiled insincerely. "Why, Malfoy, you've been following my work. How utterly flattering."

Draco pulled a face and Blaise had to hold back a laugh. It really was too bad the two were such bitter enemies.

"You would misunderstand me. On purpose, probably." Draco waved her back to the door. "But you needn't worry about this. We've got it under control."

"But I've already begun my own line of inquiry," Hermione informed him. "If you share what you know with me, it could save a lot of research on my part."

"And why would we want to do that?"

"Because it's in everybody's best interest for the situation to be fixed as soon as possible. With your help, we may be able to solve the problem that much sooner. Doesn't Roger Davies work for Vaiseys?"

Blaise considered his fiancée and decided she had a point. With her contacts, maybe they really could find a solution to this problem. "Yeah. He's not exactly high up the totem pole yet, but he's been working there for a couple of years."

Hermione got a calculating look in her eyes. "Perhaps I'll have to have a chat with him. See what they've been doing, see if I can get a sample of the water. Check out their feed supplies and facilities."

Draco huffed, as if irritated at the way she had insinuated herself into the conversation. "They share the same aquifer as Yancey's. Yancey has had a near zero birth rate too."

"Hmm." Hermione wandered across the room biting on her bottom lip with serious concentration. "Still, there must be something different."

"You'll never get in there. No one is allowed onsite. They are very careful about trade secrets, or whatever it is he calls them. And he's apparently totally worried about cross contamination from other farms." Blaise told her, leaning back in his seat and watching her. She moved with a grace and fluidity he had never noticed before. But then, maybe that was his libido talking. "They have special wards that are supposed to filter the air as it passes through to keep toxins and contaminates out. He grows pretty much all of his own feed—heck he grows feed for most of the outfits in Britain."

"I'll come up with a pretext to visit over there. Meanwhile, I'm going to keep researching." She picked up the sheaf of papers the men had been looking at.

"Granger, we were having a private meeting," Draco reminded her.

"Yes, yes, go ahead, I'm busy." She flipped a page, absorbed in the papers.

"You might as well give up. Have you ever seen Hermione back down from something once she sank her teeth into a subject?" Blaise asked when he saw Draco's eyebrows drawing together in frustration.

Draco glared. "No. I don't recall that I have. Fine, you have the research. I look forward to seeing what you can dredge up." He turned on his heel and left the office.

Blaise sighed, knowing his would have to flatter a bit to smooth Draco's ruffled feathers later, but at the moment he was more concerned about the delectable woman standing in front of him in a pair of mid-thigh shorts that made her legs look about five feet long. He rose from his chair and stalked around the desk to her while she continued to read.

A moment later he snaked his arms around her stomach, pulling her back against his chest. He dipped his head and dropped a kiss on her neck, then followed it up with several more, taking a moment to nibble on her ear lobe and run his nose along the back of her ear. He felt her shiver and grinned.

"Must you do that?" she asked, pliant and warm in his arms.

"Apparently so. You don't mind, do you?" he asked against the back of her neck, thankful she had pulled her hair back in a ponytail, easing his way.

Again she shivered, but didn't put down the papers. "It's somewhat distracting."

He touched a finger to the pulse at her neck and smiled, leaving another damp kiss on her nape. "That is rather the point. Now that Malfoy's gone, I thought we might return to the plans I had for you before his interruption."

She tipped her head to give him better access even as she spoke. "I really do have scads to do today, and your mum has plans." She groaned softly when his hands moved along her ribs to tease her breasts.

"Mum will survive if you don't make it today. You need a little less work and a lot more recreation." He reached out and took the papers she was now holding limply instead of reading. After setting them on the desk, he turned her around to face him and took her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss.

Her hands went to his hair, diving into it even as he ran his hands up the length of her back, pressing her ever closer to himself. Since his mouth was otherwise busy, he tried to convey everything he had felt the night before using only his hands. She melted and melded and took him places she had never allowed them to go before.

And then she began to withdraw, calming the kisses and finally drew away. Though he tried at first to urge her back into the embrace, she was insistent, and he allowed to her end their snog session.

"Come on, Hermione." He felt his pulse pounding and the urge to push her for more.

She set her head against his shoulder, and breathed hard. When she spoke her voice wasn't quite even. "Not yet. Patience."

"What are you waiting for? We'll be married in less than a week. Thank Merlin."

She pushed away from him looking every bit the nearly ravaged siren that she was. When she stepped away, he bit back a groan and leaned on the edge of his desk. She patted her hair and licked her kiss-swollen lips. "You're still such an enigma. Yes, I feel the enchantment between up pulling in that direction, but I'm not ready. Half the time I don't even like you."

"Your libido likes me," he said with a lascivious grin.

"It doesn't matter how strong the charm is. If my brain doesn't like you too, we'll never be happy. I just want to get to know you a little better first." She twisted her mouth into a grimace. "Besides, your mum will go spare if I'm not ready for her in a couple of hours."

Blaise found even a grimace charming, when it came from her. That was when he knew the charms on the contract had totally taken over his brain. "Fine. Go play with my mum. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Her raised her brows and considered him. "You could pick me up for lunch, if you like."

He smiled and pressed another kiss to her mouth. "That sounds great to me."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The next morning as Hermione prepared for work her eyes kept veering to the computer sitting on the desk in her bedroom. Even though there was little information on the Web that benefited her work in the magical world, she liked to keep up with news around the globe. Wizarding newspapers rarely mentioned any word of what was happening elsewhere. The prevailing opinion seemed to be that if the Muggles were involved it didn't matter to wizardkind.

Between the fracas over the invitations, the party, and social rounds with Patricia, there hadn't been much time to see what else was going on. She was in a rush, but decided she could afford to take ten minutes.

Having decided that, she grabbed the laptop and turned it on. Within minutes she was wrapped up in the latest debates in Parliament, wars around the world, and more. She was about to shut it down when she noticed a teaser at the bottom of the news page she was reading.

_Ranchers claim designer grains cause infertility in livestock._

A glance at the clock told her she didn't have time to read, but she wondered if it would have an impact on the problem in the magical world. She snatched a piece of paper and scrawled a hasty note for her supervisor, then sent it through the Floo to her boss. When that was done, she clicked on the link and became absorbed in the story as she followed link after link, did some Web searches and began sending out e-mails for more information. When she finally looked at the clock, she was two hours late for work. She wasn't done with this research. She needed more time.

Grateful she hadn't promised to be in soon, she returned to her computer and dug into the research again, jotting down addresses. There had to be some connection somewhere. She had every intention of getting to the bottom of things.

* * *

Blaise arrived at Hermione's office as they had agreed. He smiled at the receptionist in her department and passed on by without waiting to be announced. The woman blustered a protest, but he continued on through, paying her no mind.

Then he came to Hermione's office door and found it locked. He knocked on it, but heard nothing from inside. "Woman set up a silencing shield again," he muttered to himself, wondering how often she found that necessary. Surely after years of studying in a noisy common room at Hogwarts she had learned to tune out background noise. Then again, the two of them hadn't exactly been friends, and he only knew that he saw her in the library a lot. Who knew how much time she spent in the common room? Perhaps she preferred setting a silencing charm around her bed and studying there instead. She had been a pretty fair introvert, after all. He wondered what that meant for his future with her.

"I was trying to tell you," the receptionist interrupted, "that she isn't in this morning. She said she was pursuing some research. If you had listened to me, you would have known." The woman crossed her arms over her chest and huffed in annoyance.

He nodded distractedly. "Right, so where is she this morning?" He tried to be polite, but inside he was seething. Hermione knew he was coming to pick her up. Why hadn't she notified him of the change of plans?

"I'm not sure. And she didn't say when she would be back. Later today, but not for a while yet."

He swore and whirled back to the door. "Fine. That's just fine." He didn't like being stood up, especially without so much as a note from her. Who did she think she was, anyway? Just when he thought things were starting to improve.

* * *

Hermione's stomach began to growl, but she ignored it a little longer while she sent an email to a reporter who had covered the story. She could see that the seed's producer had done everything in their power to end all talk about effects of the grain on fertility. She understood why—it could ruin all of their work. The way they ran their monopoly once their grain had been purchased certainly spoke trouble to her. Who knew what the more far-reaching consequences might be.

When she finally finished the letter, she sat back and rubbed her stomach. She should have eaten more breakfast if she was already hungry. It was only—her eyes narrowed when she looked at the clock on the computer. Not believing so much time had passed, she turned and looked at the clock on wall and swore. It was after two. She was supposed to meet Blaise for lunch two hours ago. He was going to kill her.

She stood and stretched, then went to the bathroom to freshen up before she went to Blaise's house and hoped her research would appease him. What a way to ruin what was finally turning into a comfortable relationship.

***

After a couple of quick stops at the Ministry archives, and a library where Hermione might reasonably have been expected to be doing research, Blaise had given up and returned home. House elf meals would have to suffice, but if Hermione thought she would get away with this without some serious groveling, she would have to think again. Nobody stood up a Zabini.

When he heard a knock on his open door a couple of hours later, Blaise looked up to see Hermione standing in her old robes, holding a sheaf of papers and biting her bottom lip. When a streak of desire to take over worrying that lip filled him, he scowled and beat it back. Dang enchantments, anyway. Instead he tried to hold back all expression.

"Hermione. I wondered if something happened to you. I admit to being surprised that you weren't in the office when I came by earlier. You never mentioned any obscure research project." His eyes bored into hers and he saw her flinch slightly in response.

"I apologize, I've been absorbed by my research on our herd infertility. I didn't realize so much time had passed until a few minutes ago." She took a tentative step into the room and her tongue darted across her bottom lip, even as her eyes fell to his mouth.

His libido raced and he again cursed the enchantments. The date for last possible consummation was only a week away and every time he saw her he was more drawn to her. From the look in her eyes, she was feeling it every bit as strongly as he was. The question was whether getting a good snog out of the way would allow them to think more clearly, or simply make things worse. The enchantment was mandating much more than they were giving it—a fact that made him groan inwardly. Did she had any idea how inviting that mouth of hers was? Especially after she spent some time worrying her lips. Again, he ruthlessly squashed the urges inside him. All was not forgiven—not even close. He had every intention of making her pay for the humiliation.

"I'm glad to know that I fall in importance behind your work. It's good to be aware of these things before the marriage."

"It's not that you're less important. I just lost track of time. If I'd had any idea of the time—"

"What? You would have had the courtesy to let me know that you were going to skip our appointment? Would you have asked me to bring you something to eat while you worked so you wouldn't have to be disturbed? Where were you anyway? No one seemed to know when I went looking for you. Do you have any idea how much time I spent searching for you this morning?" It was really no more than fifteen minutes from the time he had left his office to pick her up, to the time he returned, fuming and ready to break something. Still, it wouldn't do to let her know if wasn't a complete waste of his time. He sensed guilt was a great way to assert his authority with her.

"I'm sorry about your lost time, really. I just got caught up. There's such a parallel between the issue these Muggles are having and our problem. There just has to be a connection."

"Muggles?" He said it as one would if offered a peanut butter and bologna sandwich—total disgust and incredulity in his voice. "What could they possibly have to do with this problem?"

Her eyes narrowed at him and her cheeks began to flame. His libido popped up a notch. She was like a siren when she was angry. He had to fist his hands on the desk to keep from reaching for her, even if she was too far away to touch.

"For your information, they do live on this planet with us. That means their actions impact us in various ways, even if you raging purebloods don't accept that."

"Your blood is every bit as pure as mine," he reminded her.

"Thank goodness that hasn't turned me into a bigoted fool." Her eyes flashed and she strode across the room. "You won't even consider that I might have found something worth looking in to because it came from Muggles. Not even if it might shed light on what is happening in your business. I never thought you were stupid before. I guess I was wrong. And just so you know—"

"First I want to know where you were all off this time. I did look all over for you. You weren't at the Ministry as far as I could tell. Where did you go, exactly?" The argument had gotten off course and he intended to bring it back around to the side where he was in the right.

"At home. On the computer."

"What's a computer?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's a Muggle communication and research device. Actually it's hard to explain, it serves lots of functions. It depends on what you want to do with it. I use it to do research about what's happening in the larger world, and keep in touch in with family."

He waved a hand. "You know what. I don't even want to know. But you need to understand that when you make a date with me, I expect you to follow through, and if you're not going to be there, I expect you to give me reasonable warning. I could have had a business lunch today, but I turned it down to spend time with you." It had only been a casual lunch opportunity with Draco, actually, but he wasn't about to admit that to her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't intend to miss lunch. This research is important to both of us. It's not like I was out wasting my time looking at designer robes or something!"

There was a female huff of disgust from the hallway and Blaise shook his head in irritation. His mother should have known better. "Those who listen at doors, mum."

There was another irritated huff, but before anything more could come from the hall, Hermione turned and pointed her wand at the door. It slammed shut and locked.

"This better be good." He held out a hand toward her. "I'm assuming those papers are somehow related to your research."

She nodded and crossed the room, handing them over. "I don't know if it's related, but I have to think there's a good chance there's a connection." Without being bidden, she took a chair across from his desk and waited quietly while he read.

His ire slipped away as he read. She didn't make a noise for the twenty minutes it took him to peruse her research. There were still more pages left when he set them on his desk, but he had the gist of it. His anger was mostly diffused. "It seems you had good reason to work through lunch. I would appreciate it if you would set an alarm charm when we have appointments in the future, so you can at least make me aware if you are unable to be there."

"I can do that. I really am sorry."

"Yes, yes. I get that. Where do you go from here?" He stood and walked around the desk. Now that the worst of his anger was burned away, he was ready to let his libido have a bit of control for a while. She still looked upset and somewhat red-faced. Her eyes snapped as he got closer and he thought he could sense the tension growing in her. He had to hold back a predatory smile as he drew nearer.

"I've already begun contacting the journalists and researchers in the Muggle world." She slid her chair back a few inches as he came to stand in front of her. Though her actions said she wanted her space, her eyes looked at him hungrily, her hand twitching. "We'll have to get a sample of the grains. Compare them to the ones Theo is feeding his herds, both those that are infertile and the ones that aren't . . . "

"You've always been so methodical," he said as he slid his hands under her elbows and pulled her up to stand in front of him. They were so close their knees practically knocked together. When she was steady on her feet, he slid one hand up to her face, smoothing fingertips over the silky skin under her ear. "I'm sure you'll come to the bottom of it in no time."

"I'll do my best." If she had intended to say more, he prevented it by pressing his lips gently to hers. He nipped and sucked and explored her mouth for a long while, reveling in the feel of her hair under and twined in his fingertips, the full length of her pressed against him, and the way she responded to his every advance.

Eventually he realized they were curled together in the chair she had been sitting in before, though he didn't remember sitting down. She was on his lap and his hands were learning the feel of her, smoothing along her arms, her ribs, sliding up to touch and test and squeeze.

Then with a deep surprised breath, she pulled away from him, sliding his hands from her breasts and back to her waist. "Hold on, slow down."

He growled low in his chest. "If we were going any slower we'd be moving backward." It nearly killed him to hold his hands low, not to squeeze and sooth and move back up to the soft mounds he had been investigating through her clothes. The fact that he hadn't removed her blouse should have been a point in his favor. Instead she acted as though he was being unreasonably forward.

She made a sound that resembled a laugh, but she was breathing heavy, her cheek pressed against his so he couldn't see her face. "It was only moments ago that you were yelling at me for forgetting our lunch and now you want to . . . right here in the office?" Her voice squeaked at the end.

He laughed this time, despite the tension still thrumming through his body. "You're such an innocent. I'm a guy—one who hasn't had any action in a year. Of course I want to be with you. Even without the damn compulsion dragging me to you every other minute I would want more with you, just because I _can_, which is more than I can say about any other woman right now."

This time she pushed away enough to climb out of his lap. "Lovely." I hardly know what to do with your complements turning my head like this. And that is why I keep stopping things between us." She brushed her hair back from her face with her hands and snatched at the sheaf of papers she had brought into the office.

The color in her cheeks only made him want her more, but he found himself amused anyway. "You do realize my birthday is only a week away? Soon you won't even _want_ to push me away." There as something not entirely thrilling about that. He refused to consider that he actually wanted her to _want_ to be with him. He'd never cared that much about a woman's feelings before. Why would he suddenly start now? She was admittedly much nicer in every way than he had ever expected, but he wasn't going to turn into a sap over her.

"Who says I don't want to now?" she muttered as she left the office, slamming the door behind her.

That brought a wide grin to his face. He enjoyed the thought for a long moment before getting up and returning to his work, much happier than he'd been an hour earlier.


End file.
